


Crown of True Kings

by apollothyme



Category: Star Trek
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Harry Potter Setting, Alternate Universe - Hogwarts, Community: ksbigbang, M/M, Minor Violence, Slow Build, Triwizard Tournament, Underage Drinking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-14
Updated: 2013-07-14
Packaged: 2017-12-20 03:13:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 71,620
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/882270
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/apollothyme/pseuds/apollothyme
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A Hogwarts!AU set during the Triwizard Tournament featuring a confused but excited James Kirk, a reserved but somehow always in the company of other people Spock and a grumpy, overprotective, healer-to-be Bones; with lots of dumb book titles, secret passages, countless hours spent in the library and a really cool Astronomy project in the mix.</p><p>This fic also features a sneaky Khan, Jim as the Hogwarts Champion and incredibly frustrating and hazardous tasks because nothing says ‘The Ministry of Magic is Mighty’ like throwing a bunch of seventeen-year-old kids into dangerous, life-threatening situations.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Advanced Astronomy for the Casual Enthusiast with Already Developed Interest

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was written for the Kirk/Spock BigBang 2013. Before anyone begins reading, I’d just like to say that this fic contains numerous references to other works, specifically the brilliant Discworld series by Sir Terry Pratchett, The Hobbit by JRR Tolkien, Star Trek and, obviously, Harry Potter by J K Rowling. Kudos to whoever can find them all, especially the Discworld references. 
> 
> A great big thanks to museattack, who beta’ed this fic and gave me some great writing advice; to sunryder, who not only helped beta as well but also drew not one, but [three amazing art pieces](http://archiveofourown.org/works/882621) (!!); to manghahabi, who made the [fantastic fanmix](http://manghahabi.livejournal.com/24031.html) and cheered me as I wrote this fic and finally to Winnie, who made the cover for this fic, also helped beta, gave me a lot of great ideas and advice and was just there for me through thick and thin as I wrote this damn thing.
> 
> Bones/Uhura and Sulu/Chekov are background pairings, so don't worry about seeing too much of those.
> 
> With all that being said, I hope everyone enjoys this fic. Cheers x

  


PROLOGUE

“Motherfucker,” Jim rasps, spitting out tiny droplets of blood as he speaks.

His entire body feels as if it were made out of heavy, oxidized lead. His left arm hurts like a son-of-a-bitch and his right leg feels like it’s not there at all. All Jim wants to do is close his eyes and sleep forever. He picks himself up off the floor, limps his way towards the nearest wall and collapses against it instead.

As he walks, he tries to make his lungs cough up all the dust and smoke he'd inhaled during the fight. If the black ball of mucus he spits out is of any indication, he still has a lot to go through to not feel like he's death warmed over.

A ray of sunlight coming from one of the windows hits a piece of rubble at his feet and something there catches his eye.

"Huh," Jim says after he's leaned down with much effort to pick up something golden and ostentatiously shiny from between the broken cobblestone.

"All of that and the asshole didn't even take the damn thing," Jim says with a sigh. He puts the crown in one of the many bigger-on-the-inside, hidden pockets of his jacket and mentally curses whomever created the blasted thing in the first place.

"Crown of True Kings, my ass. More like Crown of True Troubles, or Crown of True Assholes," he complains, allowing himself a moment to feel solemnly angry and annoyed at everything and everyone before he focuses back on reality.

With a deep, slow breath, Jim pushes himself away from the wall and makes his way back where he came from. He walks slowly and with his eyes downcast, his body too bruised and broken to allow him to move with more energy. His wand is pressed tightly against the palm of his hand the entire time.

"Khan apparated away, the bloody coward," Jim says after he reaches the front steps of the hallway, eyes still set on the floor. He's about to throw a couple more perjuries at his new least favourite person in the world when he notices Spock's form still on the floor, exactly where Jim left him. Like he hasn't moved a muscle. Like he can't move a muscle.

"Hey, Spock..." Jim calls, frozen on spot as his mind short-circuits for the briefest moment. "Fuck, Spock!" 

Jim’s running towards Spock’s motionless form before he’s even aware of it.

He throws himself on his knees in front of Spock’s legs, grabbing his friend by the lapels of his shirt and shaking him violently.

“Hey, Spock come on, talk to me. Please. Spock. Come on, just open your eyes...” 

Now that he’s close to him, Jim can see how pale Spock is, far more than he looked before when Jim left. He looks like there isn’t a single drop of blood in his body, purple veins standing out like ugly marks on his skin. There’s no blood on the floor that Jim can see, but that is of little comfort. Whatever spell hit Spock might be eating Spock’s blood cells right now, for all Jim knows.

Jim tries to find Spock’s pulse with his thumb, pressing too roughly against his neck in anguish, unable to find any signs of life.

“Please don’t die. Please, not for me, you asshole. You can’t die for me,” he says, his words only slightly quieter than shouts.

Jim allows himself a single moment to let out a strangled sob before he collects himself, picks up Spock as best as he can and starts walking where they came from. His whole body protests the heavy effort, and he only gets to take three steps before he begins to feel lightheaded.

Regardless, he keeps walking. Even when an intense bolt of pain shoots through his bruised arm and he almost drops Spock, Jim keeps walking. Even when his leg begins to cramp, Jim keeps walking. Even when the pain is so much he can no longer see, hear or breathe, Jim keeps walking.

He has to get Spock help. He can’t let his stupid, ridiculous, bowl-cut aficionado, daft work partner and close friend die, not after said friend risked his life on an idiotic act of heroism for Jim. Not after everything that has happened.

Fuck no . Jim doesn’t believe in no-win scenarios, and he’s not going to let Spock die, even if that means charming his beaten and bloody dead corpse to keep walking after Jim’s given up.

  


CHAPTER 1

Jim’s favourite subject is Astronomy.

No one else seems to get it, especially the Gryffindor crowd from his house, who tend to find any subject that doesn’t involve fighting and/or explosions boring. Not that Jim doesn’t like fighting and explosions. He does, he just also happens to find space one of the coolest things ever.

There’s something about the unknown that almost calls to him, makes him wish he could cast a spell on his broom to make it go faster than ever so he could go off to explore new worlds and discover new species. Of course, Jim knows that he’d have to do far more than put a simple speed charm on his broom since Professor Ricino, Hogwart’s Astronomy professor, is a big fan of going above and beyond to educate his students on the wonderful thing that is space. Jim partly blames his fascination on him, but it would be a lie to say that he hadn’t felt a love for the stars since he was very young.

It was because of Ricino though that Jim started paying attention to the Muggle world’s accomplishments in space. Jim still remembers when he found out that Muggles had gone to the moon in the ’60s. He was dumbfounded for a whole week and made sure to tell everyone about it until Bones threatened to shove a spatula down his throat if he didn’t shut the hell up.

After that, Jim’s fascination just sort of grew and grew, not out of control, but definitely without much choice on Jim’s behalf. It was because of it that Jim chose to continue studying Astronomy after fifth year even though he’d already decided he wanted to be an Auror. He’d considered becoming an astronomer for a while but quickly dropped the idea after an enlightening conversation with Bones, who, frankly, knows Jim better than Jim knows himself. How he does that Jim has no idea, but he does, and Jim doesn’t really care enough to think about it too much.

It was through Bones’ words that Jim realized what he really wanted was to feel the excitement of actually flying to new worlds and new star systems and be right in the heart of it. Unfortunately, there would be none of that in naming new constellations and figuring out their correlations to magic, which was pretty much what all astronomers did.

The only other Gryffindor student who chose to continue studying Astronomy after fifth year was Nyota Uhura, whom Jim didn’t exactly, in the strictest sense of the words ,  get along with. Something about purple pus and green hair and a week in the hospital wing during second year. Some people just can’t forgive and forget.

Besides a couple of Hufflepuffs and two Slytherins, everyone else in Astronomy class is a Ravenclaw. Most of them seem to be specialized in the annoying ability of holding onto a grudge until the end of time and thus can be very nice and helpful if you never get in their way, but complete dicks if you do.

Anyone who knows Jim’s past doesn’t have a hard time figuring out how they treat Jim.

Not that Jim cares. He is on the quidditch team. He gets good grades but doesn’t brag about them. He is a well-liked prankster. He gets along well with almost everyone and helps the new kids however he can, fully in the knowledge of how terrifying the first year in Hogwarts can get. Jim doesn’t need the Ravenclaws in his Astronomy class to like him. He absolutely does not.

It would be nice if they at least pretended though. It isn’t like Jim is there for any other purpose than to learn, just like the rest of them. Sure, sometimes he can get a bit too loud and overenthusiastic, but that’s just who he is.

Jim is one hundred percent sure that if everyone just goddamn relaxed for a second, stopped worrying about their upcoming N.E.W.T.s and started actually enjoying space like they should, everything would run much smoother. He’s not their boss though, and he can’t just go around telling people how to live, so instead Jim sits in the back and tries not to get on anyone’s nerves as he shows up to their first Astronomy class of their final school year.

“Oh! Mister Kirk! So delighted to see you could join us again this year,” Professor Ricino says with a smile that looks almost real on his face, which makes Jim question whether the comment was meant to be sarcastic or truthful. Probably sarcastic. Jim doubts anyone can be a professor for fifteen years without gaining a strong sense of biting humour.

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world,” Jim replies because he’s spent more hours in the Astronomy Tower gazing at the stars and writing down things about them than anyone else he knows, and if that doesn’t earn him the right to joke around with his Astronomy professor, nothing does.

Most of the class doesn’t even bother looking at him to greet him except for the Hufflepuffs, whom Jim can’t help considering his salvation, especially on rainy days when Professor Ricino decides to go over unproven theory written bloody centuries ago on how stars are the souls of the dead and the planets were made by failed spells. Yeah, right. 

On those days the ‘Always Merry’ Hufflepuffs - a false title by the way, Jim’s seen plenty of angered and moody Hufflepuffs sulking around after losing a Quidditch game - are Jim’s only source of entertainment. Say what you will about the Puffs, they tell damn good jokes and that’s just something nobody can deny.

Oh and they’re hard workers and don’t mind doing the really boring assignments for Jim if Jim promises to nick a bottle of Mudd’s Firewhiskey for them next time they go to Hogsmeade. Bless their hearts.

“Hey, where’s Helen?” Jim asks quietly as he sits down.

Helen has been Jim’s work partner since fourth year. She’s got a keen eye, a penchant for choosing the right words when Jim’s mind has gone blank and brings Jim homemade sweets every once in a while. She’s also quite pretty, with long brown hair and a smile that can melt stone hearts. Bones says she has a crush on Jim and that’s the only reason why she puts up with Jim’s wild theories and ideas for their assignments, but Jim denies it wholeheartedly. Helen is too good for him.

“Got into an accident this summer. Haven’t got the full details, but I heard it was a messy deal,” says  Popplewell , the only student in the school who manages to rock a mohawk and a neatly pressed tie at the same time. Jim’s kind of jealous even though he knows a mohawk would make him look like a squished owl.

Jim makes a small questioning sound, prompting  Popplewell to continue talking. He hadn’t heard a word about Mary’s accident yet and considering Jim’s best friends with the Gossip King - title given by Jim, third year, when Bones told him about Alex and Cyril getting together a whole week before anyone else knew - Jim finds the whole thing a bit odd.

Of course, Bones might not know about it yet. It isn’t like Bones goes out of his way to know everyone’s dirty, little secrets. Information just sort of floats towards him, like a balloon floats towards the sky. Bones complains all the time about being sick and tired of people telling him about all of their problems, but Jim is sure he secretly enjoys it. And Bones doesn’t tell Jim everything. Hell, he doesn’t tell Jim the half of it, only shares what he knows when it’s either something really good or something important, and even then--

“Werewolves. Attacked her whole family while they were on vacation in France.”

“Oh. Fuck.”

Jim heard similar stories throughout the summer. Werewolves, centaurs and creatures were driven out of their territories by the Ministry of Magic, who is trying to start a new age for the Magical community. If you asked Jim, it all sounded like bullshit to him, spewed by a government scared of its own people, who wishes to be in full power again even though they can’t tie their own shoelaces without help.

After that, Jim can’t really pay attention to class. Ricino is just giving his usual speech about the wonders of the universe and how everything about magic can be tied to the stars, so he’s not missing out on anything important. Jim’s so lost in thought that Ricino could suddenly announce that the end of world is in five minutes and Jim would miss it, which is why when Jim’s broken out of his reverie by his professor’s loud shrilly voice, he has no idea what’s going on.

Ricino lets out a sigh, already used to Jim’s habits of not paying attention when the subject doesn’t interest him. Almost everyone has left by now. Only a couple of Ravenclaws remain in the classroom, packing their things while they chat between themselves, meaning that class is over and Jim didn’t even notice. Bugger.

“This year, since it is your last, you’ll be given a project that will extend throughout the three terms, which I spent the last fifteen minutes of class talking about. Since your usual partner, Helen, isn’t here,” Ricino says and Jim thinks he can hear a hint of sadness in his voice, even if well hidden, “you’ll have to do it with someone else.”

“Has everyone else chosen?” Jim asks and Ricino nods, a small smile toying at the corners of his lips. “Then who I am supposed to—”

“Mister Spock is, as usual, available due to his preference to work alone. I’m sure you could convince him to work with you.”

Jim’s mind immediately pictures the tall Ravenclaw student, with his ridiculous bowl-cut haircut and his constantly blank face. He knew who Spock was. Everyone knew who Spock was. He always walked alone, had perfect grades at everything, refused to work in group projects and had the glaring capacity of a supernova. Jim remembers seeing him getting thrown around a couple of times, mostly when he was younger. People began to back off when Spock grew out of his pre-teen lankiness and those who didn’t Spock completely ignored until they did.

Jim’s found his eyes straying to Spock a couple of times, almost like he’s being pulled by a magnet. If it were anyone else, Jim would feel slightly weirded out by his own behavior, but Spock is, without any doubts, one of the hottest guys Jim knows, which, not surprisingly, makes everything okay. His stupid haircut and his preference to use the full Hogwarts uniform at all times included on the hotness scale.

It is hard to pinpoint what exactly about Spock makes him so bloody attractive that half the school is lusting after him and the other half hates him for it. Jim thinks it’s a combination of various factors: the mystery, the evading personality, the strong bone structure, the way he carries himself like he’s The Man, how he speaks with absolute confidence and can handle himself in a fight with no problems, the way he looks so out of place and makes you want to get to know him better just so you can fix everything for him.

Jim doesn’t know Spock, no one does, but he’s heard and seen enough in his seven years at Hogwarts to kind of make him wish he did. Nevertheless, Jim knows that Spock would never work with him willingly, and Jim isn’t in the mood to make an ass of himself begging.

“Spock? But I’ve never even talked to the guy, and he hates working with other people. Can’t I just do it alone, too?”

“No,” Ricino says with a knowing smile before he walks away into his office, leaving Jim fuming in the now empty classroom. If Jim wasn’t so busy feeling annoyed at himself, he’d be questioning Ricino’s little, cocky smile and wondering what the hell it meant. Alas, the only thing on Jim’s mind right now is getting back to his tower for a good night’s sleep so he can figure out what he’s supposed to do tomorrow.

\------------//------------

“So, I heard you got partnered up with Spock for your Astronomy thing,” is the first thing Bones says as he drops down next to Jim on the Gryffindor table. He’s already got two heavy books beneath his arms, probably to do with the anatomy of frogs or something since Bones has a weird interest in how bodies work and how we’re all so similar, and yet, so different. Bones’ own words.

“How do you already know that? It’s not even nine yet.” Jim tries to glare at his friend, but the lack of coffee and food in his digestive system makes it hard for him to concentrate on such a complicated action. He settles for throwing a piece of toast at Bones instead. “Also, get out of here, Ravenclaw. This isn’t your table.”

Jim’s last comment is completely ignored, which Jim already expected since Bones has been sitting at the Gryffindor table since first year after he and Jim became best friends on the train ride to Hogwarts.

Bones just shrugs like the good healer-to-be he is, always refusing to break patient/doctor confidentiality. “Things get around. Now stop trying to skirt around the topic and tell me what’s up.”

“Nothing’s up. I wasn’t paying attention in Astronomy and before I knew it, the only two people left without partners were me and Spock.”

“What about Helen? You always stick with her for those things. Girl does all the boring work while you spin the words around to make them look more interesting. You make a good team.”

“She didn’t come this year,” Jim says and then, as means of explanation, he quietly adds, “werewolves.”

“Damn,” Bones spits out. The conversation stills after that. Jim is thankful for this since he doesn’t have the stomach to face the unavoidable anger that would strike him if he started talking about werewolves and the ministry and how their stupid, power-hungry measures are messing everything up.

However, the silence doesn’t last long, as Bones acts like a dog with a bone when he wants to know something.

“But what about Spock? The guy hates working with other people. I can’t imagine him being very happy with your little predicament.”

This time it’s Jim’s turn to shrug. “Nothing I could do about it. Ricino said I couldn’t work alone and Spock was the only person left. I think Ricino might be up to something though; he looked far too happy when he told me I had to work with Spock.”

Before Bones can come up with a witty reply, Uhura passes by them, beating Bones to it. “Letting your ego control your tongue again, Kirk? You should do something about that.”

“If you want to give it a look I’m all yours, love,” Jim says as he smiles, slow and predatorily, making Uhura roll her eyes before she sits with her friends.

When Jim turns back to Bones, his friend gives him a look that can only be described as ‘are you really that dumb or did your mum drop you on your head as a child?’. Jim resents it, but only a little bit.

“It was the best I could come up with under the pressure and the timeframe,” Jim says as an excuse, taking a last bite out of his toast and emptying his goblet previously full of pumpkin juice.

“Smooth, Jim, so smooth.”

“Like you could do better.” In response to Jim’s comment Bones lets out a small, wolfish grin that Jim’s come to associate with Bones having a secret that he’s dying to let out but can’t for some reason. Before Jim can start grilling Bones, Sulu throws himself haphazardly onto the seat next to Jim with his usual extreme morning cheeriness that leaves everyone around with an ever-growing desire to hex him.

“Good morning, Captain,” Jim says, his own cheeriness completely faked. It’s easier to pretend you have the same level of enthusiasm as Sulu around him than have him try to cheer you up. Jim’s learned that from experience.

“Jim. Leonard,” Sulu says with a smile and a nod to both of them as he starts heaping food onto his plate. “Jim, you haven’t forgotten we have practice later today and then tomorrow again, right?”

“Don’t worry,  Captain .” This time the emphasis on the title is entirely meant as a sarcastic jab, but he doesn’t think Sulu notices. “I haven’t forgotten how we have to beat Slytherin’s asses to the ground this year, and how we have to finish with the best possible score so that no one ever forgets about us and we go down in Hogwarts history as the best Quidditch team ever to play in these fields. I was there the whole train ride listening to you talk, remember?”

“I’m just saying, we have to--”

“So, I heard they’re starting to set up shop for the tournament,” Bones says, interrupting the Quidditch banter, which Bones has little to no interest in. Jim knows from watching Bones cheer on the stands that his friend does like Quidditch, he just doesn’t like hearing Jim and Sulu talk about it.

“What? Already? The other schools haven’t even gotten here yet.”

“Near the east side of the forest. Nobody’s sure what it is. They’ve got a bunch of protective spells around the whole area, but Chapel told me you can see the very edge of the setup from the bell tower.”

“Really?” Sulu asks at the same time as Jim starts pushing his plate away so he can get up.

Everyone - from the small first years who just got to Hogwarts to their professors who’ve been there almost their whole lives - is ridiculously, stupidly, incredibly excited for the Triwizard Tournament, which has come to Hogwarts for the first time in sixteen years, at the perfect time for Jim, now a seventh year, to participate.

So Jim’s excited. Jim’s very excited. Everyone is. It’s kind of hard not to be. The energy surrounding the whole thing is contagious. One second you’re sitting in Boggins’ class, ready to fall asleep; the next you’re thinking about the tasks they have set up this year and who is going to put their name in the Goblet and what the wizards from the other schools look like. From the stories Jim heard about the last tournament at Beauxbatons four years ago, everyone is good-looking and charming and wants to get your pants off. Exciting business.

The added bonus of eternal fame for the winner and getting to be the only thing anyone talks about until the next tournament is also quite nice.

Not that Jim is sure he’s going to win. Hell, he isn’t even sure he’s going to get picked to represent Hogwarts, but it doesn’t hurt to picture himself holding the cup, surrounded by his friends and professors, all celebrating his victory.

“Are you coming or what?” Jim asks when he and Sulu are up and ready to go and Bones looks like’s not going anywhere, still eating his cereal and looking quite at peace with the world.

“We have class in five minutes, Jim,” Bones says with such an air of superiority and ageless wisdom that Jim can’t help rolling his eyes at him.

“So? We can totally make it in time! C’mon Bones, I know you wanna see it too,” Jim practically whines, giving Bones a little nudge for good measure.

Jim knows his friend. He knows that Chapel told him about the whole thing fifteen minutes ago or Bones would have told Jim about it sooner, since he’s Bones and he’d never keep anything about the tournament away from Jim.

Sure enough, Bones gives Jim a very indulging, ‘I’m only doing this because you asked nicely’ look while he gets up, which is complete bullshit because Jim knows for a fact that Bones is as excited as he is about the tournament. Bones even has a goddamn book on it.  Everything & Anything You Need To Know About The Greatest Magical Test In The World - The Wondrous Triwizard Tournament . Yeah, Jim’s seen it.

“Don’t give me that face. You want to see what they’re doing too.”

“I told you, you can only see the far edge of the setup, that is  if they haven’t heard about their break in security and haven’t fixed their spells yet.”

Jim shushes him as Sulu says, “Don’t be such a pessimist, Leonard.”

Jim thinks it’s weird that everyone treats Bones as Leonard, which, alright, is a bit ridiculous since Leonard is Bones’ real name but it’s not  his name. His name is Bones, has been for seven years ever since Bones told Jim about his hobby as a kid of dissecting animals and keeping their skeletons. Creepy, but it was all in the name of medicine according to Bones, and Jim likes to research Muggle-made metal machines that fly into space without any use of magic at all, so who’s he to question weird hobbies.

Also, it’s nice to know that Jim’s the only one who calls Bones by that name. Not that Jim would ever admit that out loud without a good dose of firewhiskey coursing through his arteries. Bones would never let him live it down.

They go to the tower in a hurry, running and laughing and generally acting like a bunch of ten-year olds just because they can and it feels nice to do so once in awhile. The effort turns out to be pointless in the end though, since all they get to see are trees and trees and more trees, although Sulu swears on his grandmother’s grave that he saw a dragon’s wing behind some of the oaks.

They end up being late for class. Boggins yells at them about irresponsibility and that seventh year is the most important. Jim doesn’t really care since in about a month the other schools will get here and the tournament will start. With any luck, he’ll get picked and dammit, he’s excited.

\------------//------------

Quidditch practice is hell.

Jim gets hit with a bludger not once, not twice, but three freaking times. The urge to steal  one of the beater's sticks and beat their heads with it becomes almost undeniable by the time practice ends. Sulu does a shit job at getting everyone to work together as a team, which only serves to increase Jim's frustration. Not that Jim blames him for this since they're three players short of their usual roster after the old ones graduated.

The new kids are good, but they're way too green and aren’t used to playing a real game on a real team, having only joined earlier that week. Yesterday's practice was helpful in getting everyone used to each other, with Sulu giving them mostly simple flying exercises and a chance to talk while they practiced.

It obviously wasn’t enough though, Jim's bruises a proof of this as the two new Beaters failed to work together throughout their exercises and didn't stop most Bludgers from hurtling at Jim with the force of a steam train.

Nevertheless, Jim still tries to be a good teammate by congratulating everyone on a good job with a fake smile on his face as every muscle in his body begs him to shut up and lie down for the next fifteen hours. Sulu shoots him an appreciative, tired smile, and this time when Jim smiles again it's real. He likes Sulu. Even though he hasn't gotten the hang of keeping everyone in check yet, rookies and veterans alike, he knows the sport well enough that most of commanding comes naturally to him. Sulu can tell an entire team how to play a perfect game with his eyes closed and his hands tied behind his back, but getting the team to actually follow his crazy ideas and techniques--that's a bit harder.

Also, he's crazy enthusiastic about Quidditch, which makes it easier to practice three times a week on rainy days when what you really want is to drown yourself in blankets and tea.

"Good job, everyone! We just have to work a bit harder and by the time the first match swings around we'll be perfect," Sulu says for what is probably the fifth time as everyone begins to clear from the locker rooms. "And remember, we have practice next week on Tuesday and Tues-- Thurs day." He finishes with a tired sigh.

Jim hangs back and waits for everyone to leave, not really in the mood to get back to the castle yet. Spock talked to him earlier that day, although ‘talk’ is probably not the right word since all Spock did was stop Jim in the middle of the hallway and tell him he’d be working on their Astronomy project that night. That’s it. Not an ‘are you available’ or a ‘do you want to discuss ideas’ or anything that remotely resembled civilized speech between two work partners. 

Spock most likely doesn’t even expect Jim to show up. This only makes Jim want to go even more, rub all of his knowledge about space in front of Spock’s face and show him that he’s not a dumb Quidditch player that doesn’t know his right hand from his left.

Of course, all this motivation to show off would be far easier to put to use if Jim didn’t feel so damn tired. It’d been a long week - seventh year really is as crazy as everyone says - and now that it is finally Friday, Jim wants nothing more than to rest, but he can’t just not show up. 

“You alright?” Sulu asks after everyone’s left.

“Yup, just tired and not in the mood to deal with Spock,” Jim replies with a smile. “‘We just have to work  a bit harder’ though? I think you’re losing your perspective, Captain.”

“Hey! I had to say something reassuring,” Sulu says as he claps a hand on Jim’s shoulder while they walk out together, a small smile playing at the corners of his lips. “By the way, thanks for congratulating the new kids and not hexing any of them off their brooms. I mean, I know I wanted to do it a couple of times...”

Jim laughs, amused by Sulu’s honesty. Usually, the Quidditch Captain is supposed to be an ever-positive but firm, confident and modest voice of command. So far Sulu had been doing a hell of job at that, but it’s nice to see that he’s still very much human like the rest of them at the end of the day.

“The rookies aren’t so bad. Just new and scared.”

“And shit at keeping the Bludgers from coming at you?”

“And shit at keeping the Bludgers from coming at me,” Jim agrees.

The rest of the walk back to the Gryffindor Tower is spent in companionable silence. The only sounds that can be heard are Sulu humming a cheerful, wizarding tune under his breath, and the noise made by their feet stepping on wet grass before they begin to set rhythmic echoes against cobblestone.

Most of the corridors are now empty, dinner time having ended a hour ago as their practice had run later than usual. Jim uses the silence as an opportunity to think about his Astronomy project.

He reckons Spock already has the whole thing figured out, but Jim also has a couple of ideas of his own that he wants to put into practice. Most likely, Spock will say ‘no’ the second Jim starts talking and not even hear him out, but Jim hasn’t taught himself how to give a perfect, trustworthy smile for nothing. Anyway, he has to at least try.

Ricino hadn’t set many rules for the project. In fact, from what Jim understood through a small, rushed, half-haphazard summary given by  Popplewell , the only three rules were ‘be creative’, ‘be great’ and ‘show a new way to love the stars’. Very romantic and poetic and a perfect opportunity for Jim to ramble about space and how many stars there really are out there and how they all have planets orbiting around them, possibly planets like Earth. If that isn’t exciting, nothing is.

“You’re still doing that thing with Spock?” Sulu asks quietly when they enter their dorm room. The rest of their dorm mates are already asleep, snuggled tightly under their red and gold blankets. 

Sulu doesn’t waste any time stripping himself of all of his clothes and getting into bed, his preferred state of nudity not bothering Jim the slightest as Jim changes to more comfortable clothes and grabs his Astronomy kit. Live with a bunch of guys for seven years and a flash of pansy arse every once in a while becomes an almost welcome sight compared to the other things you might see.

“Don’t really have a choice, do I?”

“You could just not go. He didn’t even bother asking you if you were busy or had other plans. He didn’t ask you anything, by Merlin’s beard. He just told you where he was going to be and left.”

“Yeah, well, we’re partners, whether he wants or not and since I’m a man of my word, and I said I was going, that’s what I’m going to do.”

“Your call, Jim. Good luck,” Sulu says before he throws a blanket over his head and blacks out instantly.

Jim puts all of his stuff in his old Army backpack, which is fraying at the seams and smells like blueberries and freshly cut grass. Jim adores it from the very bottom of his heart.

Once outside his room, hidden in the shadows of the staircase and far away from the voices below in the common room, Jim lets out a heavy sigh, finally able to admit now that he’s alone that meeting with Spock is really something he’d rather not do.

It isn’t that he doesn’t want to work with Spock, it’s just that Jim doesn’t find very enjoyable the idea of working with someone who, by all apparent evidence, would rather stab himself in the face than work with him.

Jim is not a masochistic asshat, like Bones called him for three weeks after Jim told him about his plan to enroll in not two advanced classes after second year, like most people did, but four. He ended up dropping Divination as the whole thing looked completely bogus and more like a bunch of made-up bullshit than anything else. Bones, on the other hand, actually ended up following Jim’s lead and chose three classes instead of two, getting enthralled by Jim’s slightly exaggerated, partially glamourous, some not strictly true stories of Muggle Studies.

The path Jim takes to the Astronomy Tower is one well-known to him but not to most students. He goes down to the fourth floor through a winding staircase hidden by a small, clunky portrait of Rincewind, a wizard from the fourteenth century whom little is known about except that he somehow saved the world a good number of times and wished he rather hadn’t every single one of them.

Jim’s feet do most of the work for him, taking sharp turns and going through small corridors while Jim lets his mind stray. They take him through a passage next to the art classrooms that smells suspiciously of newt and up the many, many steps that make the Astronomy Tower the highest, most asthma-inducing tower of all of Hogwarts.

By the time Jim reaches the very top, where he knows Spock is, his lungs feel like they’re about to give out and his heart wants to punch him in the face. Jim’s fit, but not fit enough for Quidditch practice  and a trip to the top of the star-gazing tower. No, sir.

He rests his right hand on top of the cool stone for a second, letting his head fall between his shoulders as the carbon dioxide burns its way out of his lungs. When Jim looks up, Spock is staring at him.

“Hey, sorry, just a bit- out of breath.” Jim says with a little wave, taking a step forward. “Quidditch practice and then stairs. Lot of stairs. I knew you’d be at the very top.” 

“You came.” It is the only thing Spock says in reply, not a question but not an affirmation either. More like an unexpected turn of events that Spock’s brain is already trying to grasp at full speed. Jim can’t tell if Spock being surprised is a good thing or a bad one, but he’s leaning towards the latter from the lack of emotion in Spock’s voice.

“Of course I did. You said you’d be here to work on our Astronomy project.”

“I didn’t expect you to come.”

Jim barely resists the urge to roll his eyes and make a comment about how, if they’re stating facts now, he’s more than happy to begin sharing important ones, like the sky is blue, the grass is green and Sulu snores while he sleeps. 

“I figured. So, what are we doing?”

At that, whatever spell that was holding Spock in that exasperating thrall breaks, and his curiosity or shock or whatever evaporates into thin air and he turns back to this work. He’s got a bunch of star maps scattered across the floor, as well as a couple of pieces of blank parchment and a telescope pointing towards an area of the sky now covered by a lazy, grey cloud.

“I have decided to combine Dinto Dell’s theory on why magic exists on our planet and not on others in the solar system and apply it to numerous arithmancy and muggle-based theories on the number of planets and stars in our known universe, to try to extrapolate the number of planets like ours. From that I plan to use Xing Ming’s and P. Carvell’s work to be able to ascertain the kind of life led on those planets, based on numerous complicated spells and enchantments.”

The entire speech takes a only a second to simplify itself in Jim’s head, all the unnecessary and tedious words obviously meant to show Jim how this was A Serious Project and not A Dumb Joke thrown out the window until only what Spock really meant remained.

“You want to figure out if there are other planets out there with magic? Cool.”

Spock remains undisturbed by Jim’s answer, but Jim can see the subtle way in which it affects him when Spock’s quill stalls on top of the parchment for the tiniest moment. Small enough to go unnoticed, but not enough that the ink doesn’t accumulate and make a tiny, dark stain.

Jim sits down on the floor next to Spock and gives the star maps a look. Lines have already been drawn connecting various stars and solar systems. There are magical equations on the margins, as well as a couple of muggle equations, which makes Jim wonder where Spock got them from in the first place. Spock isn’t in his muggle studies class and Jim doubts Spock’s ever spent any time on that section of the library.

It’s Spock though, so who knows. Maybe he has a secret library containing all sorts of useful knowledge under his bed. Bones tells him Spock has a regular bed just like everyone else, but Jim personally prefers his own version of events. 

As Jim goes through each map individually, Spock gives no indication of whether or not he wants Jim to do something. He doesn’t acknowledge that Jim’s there at all. He simply keeps writing, occasionally looking at the sky from his telescope before he hastily scribbles something down.

Jim wants to help. He wants to do something - anything - for crying out loud. After all this is their project, not just Spock’s. He, against all odds, even likes Spock’s idea enough that he doesn’t want to make any complaints, at least not for now, but it’s hard to feel like he’s helping in anyway when he’s, you know, not.

It’s Jim’s annoyance that sparks him to say, “so, Spock... What kind of name is that?”

“It is the name my mother gave me.”

“Really?” Jim chuckles to himself. He only meant to break the ice and start some kind of conversation between them, but he finds Spock’s cool, detached answer too interesting to leave alone. “And where does it come from?”

“A book.”

Jim runs a hand through his hair and scoots the slightest bit closer to Spock.

“What kind of book?” 

Spock has his eyebrows drawn together in irritation and his lips pursed in a white, tight line. Basically, he looks like he’s one step away from choking Jim, throwing his body off the Astronomy Tower and making the whole thing look like a freak accident. 

Jim thinks he should probably stop. He wants to get along with Spock, honestly, he does. Even if not for their grade, at least so they can become some sort of friends. The guy looks terribly lonely wandering alone all the time. Seeing him like that makes something in Jim want to help in any way he can.

That something is not annoying Spock though, and it is definitely not pushing Spock’s buttons, but somehow it’s what Jim finds himself doing regardless.

“It is a book about a traveller, who goes off into space and discovers a new world where everyone is named Kirk, asks terribly annoying questions and disturbs others when they’re trying to work,” Spock says, completely deadpan and serious as he continues working on their star map. 

The comment is so bizarre and completely unlike the always somber, terribly businesslike Spock that Jim had grown accustomed to in the few classes he shared with Spock over the years that it makes Jim burst into a small fit of laughter.

He never expected Spock to have a sense of humour with his habit of constantly glaring at everything and everyone that doesn’t meet his seriousness standards.

Somehow, Spock’s reply seems to be enough to break Jim out of whatever weird train of action he was headed. It makes Jim’s entire behavior do a 180º flip from annoyed, tired and miserable to ‘hey, maybe this isn’t so bad after all’.

“Scoot over,” Jim says. Spock raises a single eyebrow in silent questioning and if the whole thing isn’t a visual ‘Oh? You’re actually going to work? Really?’ jab then Jim doesn’t own the entire collection of  Magpie’s Incredible & Most Veridic Stories about Space, Stars and Magic .

Spock probably expected to do the whole project alone while Jim played around. So far Jim hasn’t given him any proof otherwise and really, it’s about damn time the scales were evened.

“We’re work partners, aren’t we? I’m not letting you do all the work alone. Now scoot.” Spock does as Jim asks, eyeing Jim carefully the whole time. “Now about your muggle theories, what do you have so far? Are we going for accurate to the last number results or more vague, general answers? Do you want to make a special focus group or just pick a couple at random and go from there?”

This time, if Spock is surprised by Jim’s words he doesn’t let on, answering all of Jim’s questions without missing a beat. “I’m currently working with three pieces of work from muggle scientists. The results should be as accurate as possible, and I have yet to make a decision on the focus of the study.”

Jim hums, pleased with Spock’s answer. He picks up a parchment full of magical equations. When Spock doesn’t show any signs of wanting Jim to stop, he gets to work.

As he writes, Jim can feel Spock’s eyes boring into him, sharp and curious like a cat. It takes a lot for Jim not to squirm in discomfort; he’s never liked being under close observation. Instead, he angles the parchment so that it’s in Spock’s line of view and almost physically feels the focus of Spock’s attention shift from him to what he’s writing.

A couple of minutes in silence go by, until Spock lifts a pale finger to a scribbled equation Jim just finished writing and says, “it should be 12 here and not 9, since it’s connected to the star ‘Ock’.”

Jim looks at what he’s written and rereads it, going back a couple of lines to confirm what Spock’s just said. “Oh yeah, you’re right. Thanks.”

Spock doesn’t say anything else but Jim can feel him shifting away a little bit as he goes back to his own work.

After that they spend an hour working in silence, occasionally handing one another pieces of parchment with an easy confidence that seems to build with every minute spent in each other’s company. They work surprisingly well together, like they’ve been partners for years and today isn’t the first day they had a real conversation in the seven years they spent together at Hogwarts.

It is Spock who breaks the silence after Jim’s let out three loud yawns, stubborn to keep working despite feeling as tired as he did when Sulu insisted they practiced Quidditch every day for two weeks. Now that had been catastrophically awful.

“Professor Ricino told me you have a deep interest in the muggles’ achievements in space, and that the lecture he gave on going to the moon was based on an essay you wrote.”

“Hum? Yeah. I like space. An awful lot, if I’m honest. I thought everyone knew that,” Jim says, wondering where this is going. “What about you? Didn’t figure you for the kind of guy who cares about what the muggles are up to.”

Spock’s next answer takes a while to come out, like Spock is mulling over each and every word in his head before he finally lets them roll down his tongue. “My mother is a muggle. She used to read me muggle stories about space as a child.”

“Oh? Does your name really come from there, then? A book about space?”

Spock doesn’t reply and Jim thinks he’s done it. He has crossed an invisible line with his impertinent questions, fallen off a cliff from the land of relationships based on mutual respect to a sea of passive-aggressive hate. Jim always does this. He gets too close and too personal too fast for most people to handle, leaving only the weirdos standing after he’s done being his dysfunctional, abrasive self.

“Yes,” Spock finally replies without looking at Jim and then begins to pack his things. In a bunch of quick, methodical movements Spock has all of his things packed neatly into a brown leather handbag and is getting up without another word.

Jim considers asking Spock what he did wrong but reckons Spock would not appreciate that. From what Jim knows and has seen, Spock is a very private person. Just having to work with Jim must be a major disruption for Spock so talking to Jim about his private life must be even worse. As careless as Jim can be sometimes, he’s not a blind idiot and he doesn’t wake up every morning with the mission of bothering other people until they leave.

Jim’s surprised when Spock stops after reaches the archway leading to the stairs turns around in one swift movement. “I’ll be at the library tomorrow researching. You can come if you like.”

“I’ll be there,” Jim says without even thinking. Spock gives him a tiny nod of acknowledgement before he turns around again and walks away, taking two stairs at a time.

Jim, who is neither as methodical nor as quick as Spock, takes his time putting his quills and his ink bottle back in his bag. The journey back to his dorm room is one spent with half-closed eyes and a lot of yawning.

He passes by two prefects making rounds who only eye him for a couple of seconds before they continue walking. It’s amazing the kind of privileges you get as you grow older and more known in Hogwarts. Three years ago, at his height as a prank master and slacker, no one would ever let Jim go without a full inquiry into his intentions, where he’d been, where he was going, who he was with, etc.

Now they barely give him a glance. Jim blames it on Bones, who is too much of an old crow at the sweet age of seventeen to let Jim keep acting like a dumb kid.

As soon as Jim gets to his bed, he collapses, too tired to get out of his clothes or even get under the covers. His last thoughts are about what spending a day in the library with Spock will be like. 

Jim thinks ‘nice’ and promptly falls asleep.

\------------//------------

The first thing Jim sees when he wakes up is extremely bright sunlight. This sight only lasts a couple of seconds, as Jim loves his sleep like bears love honey and doesn’t get out of bed easily.

The first thing Jim hears - and the thing that wakes up in the first place - is a voice. A loud, commanding, female voice.

“Kirk, Leonard asked me to get you out of bed so please do me a favour and get up already. He’s been waiting for you for ten minutes.”

“What?” Jim croaks out as he tries to hide under his pillow. Whoever is talking to him is having none of it though and pulls the pillow away from Jim’s lethargic hands more easily than Jim’s willing to admit.

“Get out of bed. Len is waiting.  Move .” Distantly, Jim’s brain places the voice on top of Uhura’s head, which brings up a very big batch of questions that rank from ‘how did you get into the boys’ dorm room?’ to ‘Len?  Len? ’

Before Jim can word any of them, Uhura has already walked out with the same energy and determination as when she walked in.

Jim considers completely ignoring everything Uhura said and just ditching Bones, but then he remembers he didn’t actually make any plans with Bones, which makes him wonder what’s left his friend in such a position that he’d ask Uhura to wake him up.

Grudgingly and very, very slowly Jim opens his eyes and gets up. He changes into slacks and a white buttoned shirt that looks mostly clean and smells reasonably well before he heads out, yawning and stretching as he walks.

When Jim gets out of the Gryffindor common room he finds Bones talking quietly to Uhura, who leaves the second Jim shows up but not before throwing Bones a very covert smile.

“Anything you wanna tell me about, Bones?”

“About the tournament? Absolutely,” Bones says, deviating from the subject with the speed of a hare racing a smart tortoise. “I talked to Boggins today. He said the Ministry of Magic announced the dates for the tournament yesterday.”

“And?”

“Beauxbatons and Durmstrang arrive on the 24th of October. They put the Goblet of Fire out that night and pick the champions on Halloween night. The first task will be on November the 9th.”

“So soon? Usually they wait almost a month after everyone arrives to start.”

Bones shrugs his shoulders, not having anything else to add. “Me and Scotty were thinking of sneaking off to Hogsmeade to try Rosmerta’s new ginger and cherry mix, want to come?”

Ginger and cherry? “No, thanks. I think I’ll pass on that one. I have work to do anyway.”

“Work? On the second week of school? Who are you and what have you done to James Kirk?”

“Shut up.” Jim says as he gives Bones a playful punch on the shoulder. “I agreed to meet Spock at the library later to work on our Astronomy project.”

“Really? You and Spock? At the library?” Bones asks, sounding so skeptical and sarcastic that it kind of makes Jim want to punch him with intent. “I thought he would have bitten your head off and sewed it back in place by now. How did working together go anyway?”

“It went well. Spock is... nice. Quiet but nice, not the mean Mr. Grinch everyone plays him out to be.”

Bones eyes Jim curiously for a couple of seconds and Jim thinks he’d scratching his beard if he had one.

Whatever Bones wants to say he doesn’t say it, just claps Jim on the back and tells him he already had breakfast so they’ll see each other later. Jim nods, slightly dumbfounded by his friend’s unusual silence. Bones is nothing if not loud and clear about his opinions, however unpleasant they might be.

Jim eats breakfast alone, most students having already eaten earlier, and strolls back to the Gryffindor Tower to get his things without any rush. He and Spock hadn’t agreed on a time to meet, so Jim has taken the liberty to assume that late morning is as good a starting point as any.

When he finally gets to the library, after a quick chat with Sulu and his pal Chekov, who has the best accent in history, and a small stop at the kitchen for a strawberry smoothie, Jim finds Spock already there.

He has his nose practically glued to an old, dusty book and a sizeable amount of more old, dusty books covering his table. He’s also at the very, very end of the library where nobody goes since it’s near the Restricted Section and the noises that place makes are scary as hell.

“I thought I’d never find you,” Jim says. He drops into a seat in front of Spock and throws his bag on the floor.

“I’m sorry?”

“Nevermind,” he says. Spock doesn’t look like the biggest fan of hyperboles and Jim’s not in the mood to explain his figure of speech. “So, what do you have for us today?”

Jim can’t be sure it’s there, but he thinks he sees the corner of Spock’s lips lift just a fraction before he dissolves into a big explanation on what he’s currently doing, what he’s planning to do and what he’d like Jim to do. The last part comes as a bit of a surprise, as Jim thought Spock had no experience whatsoever working with others and thus Jim would have to fend for himself throughout the project.

Spock speaks with a calm, deliberate tone. Every word is carefully chosen from a wide range of possible synonyms like Spock has his own private dictionary in his head, which, somehow, Jim can see being true. There is no room for error in the way Spock speaks, every word fitted neatly next to its siblings. Everything is said with the purpose of meaning one thing and one thing only. It’s effortless and, if Jim is willing to do admit it, almost beautiful for its practicality and sensibility.

If Jim stares at Spock’s face a little too much and admires Spock’s bone structure while Spock talks, their hidden location makes it so no one is the wiser.

After Spock has finished talking and Jim has finished staring, Jim gets straight to work. Spock asked him to search for any relevant information in the books he’d picked so they’d have a wider and more practical base to go from, so that’s exactly what Jim does, copying everything he thinks might be relevant in neat, tidy handwriting.

He is about two inches into a piece of parchment when the silence begins to get to him, growing seemingly heavier with each second. Around the fourth inch, Jim feels like there’s someone in the Restricted Section staring at him and by the fourth and a half he’s sure he hears a noise coming from there. Dammit, this is why Jim doesn’t like coming here. Jim gives up on trying to remain quiet when he reaches five inches. He blurts out the first thing that comes to his mind, which just so happens to be about his new favourite event and practically the only thing that’s been on his mind since the beginning of school year.

“So... Are you excited about the tournament?”

Spock looks up, thinks for a second and then says, “I have to admit that while barbarian forms of entertainment are not usually what I would consider enjoyable, the energy surrounding the Triwizard competition is quite infections. I find myself interested in the event despite my best wishes.”

Jim winces at ‘barbarian’ but doesn’t let that stop him from hearing about Spock’s ‘interest despite his best wishes’ and from asking, “thinking about putting your name in the Goblet?”

This time Spock doesn’t hesitate before he says, “no.”

“Why not?” Jim asks and watches Spock put down his quill and settle his hands together beneath his chin, as if preparing to give a small child a lecture.

“Since the tournament began in 1294 there have been 247 deaths. Eighteen of those deaths were participants in the tournament, the other 229 audience members. There have also been 1053 injuries, 156 of those permanent malformations, 570 considerably serious and slow to heal. The tournament is also known to exaggerate the qualities of its participants and create ‘momentary’ champions that are soon forgotten.”

“So, what you’re saying is... You’re scared of getting hurt?”

“I am not scared of illogical, nonsensical, idiotic, superficial competitions that serve only as a mean of adulation to already sizable egos, Kirk.” 

If Jim were to say he’s surprised by Spock’s vicious answer, he’d be lying. He’s been waiting for Spock to show some signs of being bothered by Jim’s presence since they started working together and Jim’s almost happy that it finally happened. Better now, while they still don’t know each other very well and forgiving and forgetting should be easier, than later.

“Call me Jim,” Is all he says in reply.

Spock rolls his eyes at him and doesn’t bother replying, but Jim can tell he’s not truly angry at him, or at least, he doesn’t look like it. He looks more like Bones, annoyed but in a fond sort of way.

“Oh, I’d almost forgotten!” Jim exclaims before he pulls his bag from the ground starts going through its contents. “I brought a book, it’s not very related to what we’re doing but I thought we could use it as inspiration.”

Jim takes out the book with a small flourish and hands it to Spock, who reads its title with not one, but two raised eyebrows in surprise, or is it shock?

“ Advanced Astronomy for the Casual Enthusiast with Already Developed Interest .”

“It’s written by a couple, a muggle and a witch. They talk a lot about how the future of Astronomy is in combined work between muggles and wizards.”

“It sounds fascinating,” Spock says and he looks like he actually means the words and isn’t just saying them to be polite. Jim beams with pride.

After that they don’t get much work done. Spock spends his time reading Jim’s book with a look of deep interest on his face, while Jim sketches in a small notebook what he thinks another magical civilization could look like.

His drawings look, and have always and most likely will always look, like they could have been drawn by a five-year-old. Jim’s proud of them anyway.

Around mid-afternoon the sun takes a peek from behind the September clouds and golden rays of sunlight stream down the library’s windows and cast a lazy, orange light over the room. Without even noticing, Jim finds himself watching tiny specks of dust play, twist and spin in the air before settling on top of their table and Spock’s books.

It’s around that time that Jim suggests they go work by the lake, underneath the big oak tree. 

The question practically slips past Jim’s lips on its own, the rare sight of a clear sky making Jim want to get up and run outside immediately. 

Surprisingly - or maybe not, Jim’s finding Spock is not that hard to understand as he thought he’d be - Spock agrees to Jim’s suggestion and together they each take two books with them.

A couple of people stare at them as they walk out side by side, and they definitely get weird glances thrown at them when they settle underneath the old oak tree, but Jim’s never been one to care about what people think and he doesn’t think Spock is either.

To say that they spend the rest of the afternoon working is a bit of an overstatement. They read the books they bring with them, absolutely, but neither takes notes as they humm and ah in all the right passages and occasionally bring to attention a certain piece of text they think the other will find interesting.

It is through this interaction that Jim discovers that Spock finds the moon - the actual moon, not its not-so-interesting magical properties they’re forced to study every year - interesting. The thought that there’s a gigantic piece of rock going around and around the earth, never crashing into their blue planet but getting almost imperceptibly closer every day, is fascinating. The fact that the other planets in the solar system have more satellites of their own is even more intriguing.

Jim talks about Apollo 13 and Neil Armstrong. Spock tells him about the composition of the sun and black holes. Jim draws a rocketship to show Spock what they’d have to build if they wanted to go to the moon and then Spock draws a better, more accurate one.

They go back to the castle after the sunsets, walking together into the Great Hall. Jim makes his way to the Gryffindor table, where Bones, Sulu and Chekov are, because apparently eating with your own house table is out of fashion now, and Spock goes to the Ravenclaw table, because that’s where he always eats.

Jim almost invites him to eat at his table but decides against it at the last second. He does ask Spock if they’re meeting again tomorrow though and can’t help smiling like a big, dumb idiot when Spock says yes.

Silently, Jim hopes that working together once or twice a week - or more, if Spock’s up to it - will become a thing. Jim loves to talk about space and he doesn’t get nearly as many opportunities as he’d like. Spock actually wants to talk about space too, making the two conversations they’ve had so far two of the most interesting in Jim’s life.

His friends won’t get it, or at least they won’t before they tease him thoroughly about it, so Jim doesn’t bring it up, slipping into a conversation about the Quidditch World Cup with ease.

Tomorrow he’ll bring his copy of  The Universe As We Know It with him and let Spock murmur ‘fascinating’ every so often as he reads it and Jim sort of works. Jim will talk about the tournament to see if he can change Spock’s mind about it and it will be great, all of it.


	2. Everything & Anything You Need To Know About The Greatest Magical Test In The World - The Wondrous Triwizard Tournament

Jim turns around at the same time as Scotty to see Professor Boggins running towards them with his green robes flapping wildly, one of his hands in the air and the other making sure his hat doesn’t fall off. Boggins’ usually tiny blue eyes are open in an almost comically wide way, and his whole face looks like a portrait of a frightened deer.

“Professor Boggins! What can we do for ye, Sir?” Scotty asks, his heavy Scottish accent marking his words.

“Have you not heard? The other schools are arriving today!” Boggings exclaims, his voice going up an entire octave. Now that he is up close Jim can see how red his cheeks are, all those years of smoking every night taking their toll on his physical health.

Before either Jim or Scotty can make a comment about how of course they know the other schools are about to arrive, although they don’t know how that concerns them, Professor Boggins grabs both by the arm and drags them along.

“And there’s got to be a committee - a welcoming committee! Can’t leave them fending for themselves now, can we?”

“Let me guess, sir. We are that committee?” Jim asks as he tries to free himself from Boggins’ iron grip so he can walk on his own, and not be seen being dragged all over Hogwarts by his Potions master.

“Of course you are, gentlemen. We have got to have at least one person from every House. I’ll admit I was trying to find more Hufflepuffs--very polite folk, Hufflepuffs, my own fellows, you see--but they’re all busy with… one thing or another--Merlin knows I can’t keep track of them--and we seem to be running out of time, so you’ll have to do!”

Jim wants to be offended, but you can’t blame someone for being honest and it isn’t like Boggins is lying. Hufflepuffs are all, by common rule, disturbingly nice and always welcoming. Jim’s sure they’ve got an ulterior motive for why they act like that, but he’s never been able to figure it out.

As they make their way towards the bridge at the end of the courtyard Boggins grabs two other people, a Slytherin girl and a drowsy Hufflepuff, finally letting go of Scotty and Jim to make sure the fresh meat do as they’re told.

When they arrive at their destination next to the circle of rocks in front of the bridge, Jim’s surprised to see Bones and Spock there, standing side by side and looking terribly unsure and uncomfortable about the whole situation.

“Mister Spock! Mister McCoy! So glad to see you got my message. Is that Mister Chekov I see over there talking to a Gryffindor fellow? Someone go fetch them, both of them, and we’ll be set.”

The Hufflepuff kid Boggins grabbed goes, at the same time as the Slytherin girl goes off to the other side, where she doesn’t have to interact with any of them.

Jim moves towards his friends with an easy smile on his face and says, “I see Boggins got you too.”

“Not like I had much of a choice, he said I had to come or he’ll fail me,” Bones replies, crossing his arms over his chest and puffing in annoyance.

“Really?” Jim asks.

“No, but it sure as hell sounded like it.”

Jim laughs before he turns to Spock, who says, “I had the same impression.”

Since they began working together a month ago, Jim and Spock have moved their relationship status from ‘acquaintances’ to ‘friends’, at least by Jim’s standards. Jim isn’t very sure where Spock stands on this.

Regardless, they get along well, talk to one another before classes start, occasionally even during classes and say ‘hi’ to each other when they pass one another in the hallways. They have yet to eat together at one of their tables, but Jim is sure that’s bound to happen any time soon.

On the opposite end of the spectrum, Spock and Bones’ relationship status has not changed… at all.

Jim thought that since he and Spock are friends now, and Spock and Bones are from the same house, they could all be friends. Or just hang out together once in awhile. Or stand each other’s company. Or not hate each other’s guts.

Turns out this is much harder than expected.

Jim isn’t sure what’s going on between Bones and Spock, as neither of the Ravenclaws will tell him, but he knows that something must have happened in the past because those two do not click. At all. They are like meaner, more sarcastic versions of a cat and a dog, always glaring at each other and making jabs whenever they’re in each other’s vicinity.

It’s genuinely surprising that neither has said anything mean to the other yet considering it usually only takes them five seconds to get the show started. 

Most likely it’s because of Boggins. For a warm-hearted Hufflepuff, their Professor’s brutal honesty and lack of patience for bullshit makes him someone not to mess with.

“Ah! They’re here, they’re here! Everyone in position!” Ricino exclaims, loud enough for everyone in the surrounding area to hear.

Jim does not have time to ask ‘Positions? What positions? Since when do we even have positions?’ before a blue coach led by twelve gigantic winged horses appears from the right side of Hogwarts castle, flying at full speed.

At first, everyone watches the spectacle frozen in place, but soon it becomes evident that whatever or whoever is controlling the horses is doing a shit job at it, and the way the coach seems to be flying down too fast is not an optical illusion but rather harsh reality. Jim’s about to grab whomever is nearest to him and bolt when the horses come to an almost full stop and then, like with most magical things, make a smooth, slow landing instead of crashing onto the grass like they should have.

Everyone watches with anticipation as the the coach doors open and a petite, blonde woman strides out wearing a scarlet dress, followed by two dark-skinned twin girls in pale blue dresses.

The woman, whom Jim presumes to be the Headmistress, walks with a decided look, her chin pointed up, her shoulders straight and her back rigid like a wooden stick. It is almost like she’s trying to overcompensate for her tiny figure by trying to make herself look bigger. 

Jim thinks it’s kind of cute until the woman opens her mouth and speaks with a loud, deep and definitely not tiny voice. “Professor Baggins, I presume. I am Marguerite Bullivier, Headmistress of the Beauxbatons Academy of Magic,” she says, with a thick French accent. The handshake she gives Boggins looks firmer than most men could ever dream of giving.

“Actually, it’s Boggi--”

“No matter! Me and my girls have travelled a long way, as I am sure you know, and we would like to rest before any of these formalities and introductions. Have someone show us where we can put our coach, Baggins.” And then, as an afterthought, she adds, “ S’il vous plaît .”

Boggins, the poor fellow, looks quite put out and confused by the whole thing. As far as Jim knows, he hadn’t been to any of the previous tournaments and so he probably thought the Beauxbatons girls were like cutouts from fairy stories. He’d been fairly mistaken. While the girls behind Bullivier certainly look nice and soft with perfect, white smiles and big eyes, Jim can tell from the way they’re eyeing everything around them with alert interest that a fight with either of them would be an evenly matched one.

Regardless, Boggins, as an Irish man of word and character, recovers from his surprise quickly enough, turning to the people closest to him--the Slytherin girl and Bones--and giving them orders in a strict tone. “Miss Smith, Mister McCoy, please show Miss Bullivier and her lovely students where they can park their coach.”

Jim can practically see the annoyance grow by tenfold on Bones’ face as Boggins gives them a little push. The look can be partially blamed on the fact that Bones and, presumably, the Slytherin girl have no idea where Boggins wants them to put the coach, and partially on being treated like a messenger dog.

“Azealia, Atealia, please guide the horses,” Miss Bullivier says to her own girls and without another word she goes back into the coach and closes the door.

“Where--” the Slytherin girl begins to ask when she’s interrupted by Boggins, who’s smiling a bit too maniacally for Jim’s liking.

“Near the lake, next to the old oak tree,” Boggins says.

Bones lets out a tiny groan before he begins to go down the hill and says, “Follow us,” without looking back to see if anyone is actually following him.

The Slytherin girl goes after him and without needing any other indication, Azealia and Atealia climb on top of the two horses near the front and make them go around the rock formations to gain speed, making whomever doesn’t wish to get trampled scurry away in fear. They steer the entire pack of horses towards the direction Bones is going with an ease that is genuinely impressive, considering the size and sheer power of the animals.

“Well, that was unexpected,” Jim says once the coach is out of their line of sight.

“Agreed. I thought they would be more...” Spock trails off.

“Polite? Calm? Not using twelve gigantic, winged horses as a means of transport?”

“Peaceful, I’d say.” Spock takes an even look around the area and then, more quietly, he adds, “They broke one of the rocks in the circle when they left.”

Jim turns around to see one of the rocks in front of the wooden bridge smashed into various crushed pieces. He’s never figured out why they had a circle with a bunch of rocks in the first place, but felt offended on their behalf at the way that the Beauxbatons girls had disrupted their peace by breaking one of their limestone brothers.

Boggins makes a small sound of disapproval in the back of his throat from where he’s standing near Jim’s left, but doesn’t say anything.

“Now what?” Jim asks once the crowd begins to clear away, the excitement having died down.

“Now we wait for Durmstrang. They should show up any minute now.”

“And what have they got carrying their coach? Fire dragons from the north?” Sulu asks, speaking up from the first time since Jim saw him. By his side Chekov looks almost embarrassed by Sulu’s words, as if he believes speaking like that in front of a teacher is bad or something.

Belatedly, Jim remembers that it is.

“I don’t know actually. Headmaster Pike said to look east.”

Like a broken compass, everyone turns their heads towards the far east, which is near the river, just in time to see the first bubbles of air begin to float towards the surface.

“Is that--”

“What are they--”

“No way. Do they use mermaids to get around?” someone asks just to be proved seconds afterwards that no, Durmstrang does not use mermaids as a method of transportation. They use a ship. A very large one in fact, that travels underwater and surfaces in a matter of seconds by bloody erupting from the water as if it were an exploding volcano.

Jim has been a wizard all his life. His parents and his grandparents and his great-grandparents had been wizards and witches all their lives too and yet, despite the many years spent in the company of witchcraft now weighing down their family clock, magic will never stop surprising Jim.

It’s amazing, the things you can do once you decide sticking by nature’s laws is too boring.

“Well they certainly put on a good show, that’s for sure,” Boggins says at the same time as Jim lets out a low whistle. He’d heard stories about Beauxbatons and Durmstrang through the years, of course, but it’s quite easy to get information muddled up and, if he’s honest, Jim had never believed most of them to be true.

He’s pleasantly surprised to learn that he was wrong.

Even Spock looks impressed with this one. Jim can see the wheels inside his head already turning as he tries to figure out how the whole thing works.

After it’s reached the surface of the river, the ship travels slowly towards the shore, prompting Boggins to hurry towards them without a word, leaving Jim and the others to follow after him.

The doors to the main deck open in one loud, thunderous movement and out comes a tall, bearded man wearing a large fur coat, fur hat and fur boots, because apparently you can never go wrong with fur. He is followed by two smaller men wearing similar outfits, who Jim reckons are most likely students. If he’s honest, look old and big enough to be Jim’s dad.

Jim wonders if it’s tradition to have students follow around their Headmasters when visiting new places. He has certainly never seen Pike do something like that. Then again, Headmaster Pike isn’t what most would call a ‘traditional’ wizard. He doesn’t even have a beard or a pointy hat.

A bunch of black wooden planks begin to float in the air and arrange themselves neatly until they form a larger, steadier structure that places itself between the ship and the ground to make a tiny bridge.

“Master Baggins!” the leading man exclaims in a heavy northern accent as he goes down the wooden plank and opens his arms to envelop Boggins’ in a bone-crushing hug.

“It’s Boggins, not Bag--” Boggins tries to say, but before he gets a chance to finish his explanation, the man who is presumably the Durmstrang Headmaster has already interrupted him, turning to his students.

“Khan, Brodsky, tell the others they can set the anchor and pull down the sails. We shall stay here.”

The students--Khan and Brodsky--nod and march back to the ship.

“Now, I assume you will show us the castle,” the man says and Jim wonders if he’s planning on introducing himself at any time soon, or if he just thinks everyone knows who he is already. Probably the latter. You’d need a special sort of narcissistic personality to wear that much fur.

“Well, of course. Our best students, Mister Kirk and Mister Spock, will show you around.”

Jim coughs.

“Actually sir, me and Spock have a really important project we must finish for our Astronomy class,” he says casually, opening his baby blues wide enough that to the untrained eye he looks like a genuinely innocent student worried about his studies.

Boggins, most likely aware of the truth but too stressed to do anything about it, shushes him away before turning to the nearest available pair, Sulu and Chekov. “Yes, yes, you can go then. Mister Sulu and Mister Chekov will show you the school, Mister...?”

“Knute. Aleksander Knute,” he barks out, standing up a little bit straighter as he says his name.

Without waiting to see where the conversation is going, Jim grabs Spock’s arm, flashes Sulu an apologetic smile and begins walking away at a fast-but-not-so-fast-as-to-arouse-suspicion pace.

“Jim, our project’s deadline is at the end of the school year in June.” Spock says once they’re out of earshot.

“I know, but I wasn’t in the mood to give Mister Fur Boots over there a tour of Hogwarts, were you?”

“I was not.” Jim doesn’t fail to catch out the corner of his eye the way Spock smiles, small and private.

“What do you wanna do now?” Jim asks, too excited to go do some actual work for their Astronomy project now that he finally has real proof that the tournament is definitely going to happen, right there in Hogwarts and in Jim’s final year too.

Before Spock gets a chance to reply, Jim is hit with a sudden thought, “Hey, wanna go play Quidditch? I don’t think I’ve ever seen you around the field.”

“Quidditch?” Spock asks incredulously, stopping dead in his tracks.

“Yeah, you know, Quidditch. That sport with the brooms and the Snitch.” Jim helps to explain his point by gesticulating with his arms. Spock crosses his arms and frowns at him.

“I know what Quidditch is.”

“Well, do you wanna play it then? The field is empty today so we can fly a couple of laps, throw some Quaffles around. It’ll be fun.”

Jim thinks Spock is going to say ‘no’ from the way the idea of getting on a broom and flying seems to be so foreign to him, but Spock surprises him and says, “Okay.”

If Jim was surprised then though, the shock he feels when Spock gets on a broom without any problems and begins to fly smoothly through the air is of cosmic proportions.

Because of Spock’s hesitance to accept Jim’s invitation, Jim expected Spock to be an awkward flier like Bones, too nervous and scared to be able to fly properly but too stubborn to admit it. It honestly should have been obvious that Spock had no choice but to prove Jim wrong.

“You fly like a professional,” Jim shouts. He gets on his broom and glides to where Spock is with ease, a Quaffle beneath his left arm.

“I took lessons as a child,” Spock says before he takes a 90º degrees curve upwards and does a frontflip for style.

“Of course you did. Show off...” Jim murmurs under his breath with no real malicious intent.

Two can play at this game, Jim thinks and then throws the Quaffle full speed at Spock’s head to get him to stop showing off.

Spock catches the damn thing with his freaking left arm without even looking, as if he’s some sort of speed demigod. He doesn’t even celebrate his amazing move or flash Jim a shit-eating grin like Jim would have, he just looks at Jim once to make sure he has Jim’s attention and then throws the Quaffle to the other side of the stadium before diving after it.

Jim’s following Spock’s movement before he even knows it.

Spock has the advantage on him, but Jim’s not one of Gryffindor’s Chasers for no good reason. With a dangerous twist of his broom he catches the Quaffle just before it hits the grass. 

“What do you want to play?” he asks Spock. Even though they haven’t done much so far, Jim can already hear his heartbeat thumping loudly behind his ears and feel his blood run faster and hotter through his veins.

This is why Jim loves Quidditch and why he wants to be in the tournament: to feel his blood boil, to have sparks shooting from the tip of his fingers and all of his hairs on edge as he goes faster and better and smarter than everyone else. It’s exciting, exhilarating, addictive even. The rush, the emotion, all of it going through Jim at the speed of light.

“Can we put a spell on the ball?” Spock asks as he flies closer and takes the Quaffle from Jim’s hands.

“Hm? Yeah. Why?”

Spock doesn’t answer, simply takes out his wand from his back pocket, murmurs a quick spell at the Quaffle and then throws it in the air again, this time upwards.

Ignoring the laws of gravity, the Quaffle doesn’t come down.

“First one to catch it and throw it through the other one’s main goal hoop wins.” Spock doesn’t give Jim a chance to reply before he’s after the Quaffle, which spins on its axis madly for a second before it flies off into a random direction.

For the second time that day, Jim finds himself following Spock without even thinking about it. 

Throughout their game, his regret at having decided not to change to his Quidditch clothes amplifies a least a good hundred times, like the difference between the amount of fire a teenage dragon can breathe out before and after it hits puberty. Who’d let the sun out, anyway?

“Best out of three?” Jim asks after he’s scored the first goal. He’s glad to see Spock looking as bothered and uncomfortable as he is. True brothers ride together, die together.

Spock nods and they get back to their game, the Quaffle shooting off into the air on its own.

They talk a bit as they play, mostly shouting comments, but Spock strikes up a chat one time after he scores an amazing goal that will forever make Jim feel ashamed of his poor Keeping skills.

“Will you be putting your name in the Goblet tonight?”

“In front of everyone? I don’t think so.”

“I thought you’d like the attention,” Spock says in such a calm, matter-of-fact way that Jim doesn’t have it in him to be hurt by the statement. 

“I like attention but... not this kind and not for something as insignificant as putting my name in the Goblet.”

Spock remains silent for a while, staring at the motionless Quaffle in his hands before he throws it in the air and starts another round. After that they don’t talk much.

When they’re done, Jim having won seven points to three after he decided to get his head in the game and beat Spock’s ass in an only slightly smug manner, Jim feels like he’s literally bathing in his own sweat.

“Oh man, I need a shower,” Jim says and then adds, after taking a look at Spock, “and you do too.”

Spock’s got his fringe matted against his forehead, his nose and the back of his neck a light shade of pink that’s bound to leave a nasty sunburn in a couple of hours. His Hogwarts outfit is also glued to his body in a way that should, by all apparent means, be gross and off-putting.

Jim thinks it’s a good look on him. It makes him look stronger, bulkier and, in a purely aesthetical way, pretty hot.

“Wanna take a bath in the Prefect’s bathroom? Sulu gave me the password.” 

“Thank you, but I must go now. I have something important to do,” Spock stutters out.

“Oh?” Jim says, not sure where the jittery twitch in Spock’s voice just came from and unable to ask about it as well, since Spock doesn’t waste another second explaining, turning sharply to leave.

“I’ll see you at dinner?” Jim calls but doesn’t receive an answer.

By the time Jim gets to the locker rooms, Spock and Spock’s things are gone.

“Weird...” he whispers to himself as he picks up his heavy cloak and his backpack, plans to take a nice, long bath in the Prefects’ bathroom undisturbed.

Now that Jim’s alone, all of his thoughts seem to lead back to the tournament. The giddy excitement he’s been feeling ever since the year began grows exponentially with every step he takes back to the castle, almost like it’s picked up a pair of wings and is now dying to fly out of his body.

He doesn’t believe that he’ll be picked as the Hogwarts champion, much less win the actual tournament, but it’d be a lie to say he doesn’t think he can do it. Represent Hogwarts, win the Triwizard cup, be remembered for years to come.

Now that’s something Jim will never let anyone forget. Especially Bones. Definitely Bones. He can already imagine himself singsong ‘Triwizard Champion’ at Bones whenever his friend tries to bring up the crazy shit he’s done over the years to discredit whatever crazy shit he wants to do next.

\------------//------------

Jim eats and drinks far too much at dinner.

The bad sort of ‘too much’ that makes him feel like his stomach is about to burst and reminds him of the prophecy, which arguably can’t even be considered as one, that Professor Gavenita made of his future reincarnation as a blue whale.

Sulu had found that to be literally the funniest thing ever, saying so numerous times and laughing for two minutes straight until Professor Gavenita pointed out that in his future reincarnation, Sulu will be a walnut.

They’d made a pact not to tell Bones and Scotty about the other’s future reincarnation as long as the other kept his silence as well, but, not very shockingly, the news still got out. Why Jim thought his misadventure with the art of Divination could remain a secret in the hallways of Hogwarts was beyond him.

Everything got out in Hogwarts, one way or another. You just had to tell one person, and then that one person would tell two others, and those two others would tell three others and on and on the rumors went, growing on and around each other like a tangled spider’s web.

Take Jim and Spock’s friendship, for example. They hadn’t exactly been keeping it a secret, as there was nothing worth keeping secret, but they certainly hadn’t been rubbing it in everyone’s faces either. For whatever reason though, it seemed no one in Hogwarts could understand their friendship, or keep their mouths shut about it, if the number of times Jim has heard his and Spock’s name together are of any indication.

It’s not that he has a problem with being associated with Spock, obviously. He just doesn’t like having people talk about him like this, but that seems to be all people do and the more he wishes they’d just shut up already, the more they seem to yap.

Since dinner began, Jim has heard his and Spock’s name three times and it’s not like he’s trying to keep count. Why they’re even talking about the two of them is truly baffling considering the other two schools are finally there, speaking in butchered English with them, eating at their tables, wearing their posh outfits - seriously, that’s way more exciting.

As a true admirer of all body shapes, personalities and culture backgrounds, Jim thinks this is the best thing that’s ever happened to the still far too close-minded Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. 

Not that Jim wants to ‘get it on’, so to say, with any of the foreign students. He’s far too busy with Quidditch, classes, studying for his N.E.W.Ts, the Astronomy project and, hopefully, the Triwizard Tournament to even consider such an idea. 

They are all quite good-looking, Jim really can’t deny that, and if something happens during the Yule Ball then something will happen during the Yule Ball. Jim’s not making any plans just yet.

For now all that matters is eating blueberry pie until he goes comatose and convincing Sulu that talking to the twins they’d seen earlier is a very good idea. “Honestly, Sulu, what can go wrong? You just say hi, talk to them for a bit; seriously, man, go for it.”

“What if they don’t want to talk to me? What if they throw something at me?” Sulu asks, sounding far too panicky for someone who’s had three glasses of supposedly spiked pumpkin juice.

“Just go for it! No worries, they’ll love you!” 

“You sure?”

“Positive. Go get them, tiger. I mean Captain. Go get them, Captain.” Jim, on the other hand, is definitely feeling the effects of the alcohol. Damn Scotty and the poison he dares to call ‘light vodka’. Light vodka Jim’s ass.

Jim’s brain decides that he should get up and go to the Ravenclaw table to complain about the drastic mistitling right then and there. Jim only stumbles once--once!--on his way to where Bones and Scotty are chatting happily, Spock a couple of metres away from them eating quietly on his own. 

Jim notices this when he’s about to reach the table. In his drunken stupor, he decides to grab Spock by the back of his coat and drag--literally drag--him where to where Scotty and Bones are sitting.

Spock, whose reflexes would definitely impress him if he was looking at Spock, manages to put one foot on the floor before Jim makes him fall. He quickly regains his balance, raising only a couple of curious glances as he follows Jim to where he is leading them without a word.

When Jim sits next to Scotty, Spock does the same, only by Jim’s side.

An awkward silence falls around the four of them, Jim being too caught up in drinking more pumpkin juice from Scotty’s goblet to notice.

Bones is the first to speak up and say what everyone is thinking. “Jim? What just happened here?”

He takes a moment to think about this. “Spock was there, you were here and I was over there,” he says as he points to the Gryffindor table. “Now we’re all here.”

“Yeah, but why?”

Jim shrugs. “Why not? You’re my friends, Spock’s my friend. Can’t we just hang out?”

Scotty, who is genuinely the best person Jim knows and without a doubt one of the greatest, funniest, coolest and also weirdest but in a good way guys to be around, mulls Jim’s answer for less than a second before he happily says. “Well, can’t argue with that logic. Anyway, I’ve always said that any friend of Jim’s is a friend of mine.”

He’s never said that, but Jim doesn’t call him out on that. The next thing Scotty does is fix him and Spock a goblet of pumpkin juice each and Jim could kiss him, he really could.

He’s been trying so hard to get his friends to like Spock. He doesn’t even know why exactly he wants them all to be friends, he just knows he’s tired of seeing Spock alone when he could be with them.

Sulu needed literally no talking to. Sulu could be friends with a fly if he wanted to, his enthusiastic but still somehow cool personality making it easy for him to make friends wherever he goes. It helps that Chekov, Sulu’s best friend forever, has some sort of intellectual, man-crush on Spock and talks about him like Spock is some sort of God.

Scotty has been a bit tougher to convince, having shared a room with Spock since their first days at Hogwarts. Scotty is the kind of guy you either get along with well, or don’t get along with at all, but have a decent reason ‘why’ in regards to both options. The fact that he has never done anything to offend or annoy Spock, not on purpose anyway, and Spock still dislikes him, means that Scotty was a little distrustful of Spock.

Still, he was Scotty and there was nothing a good drink couldn’t fix, improve or at least make it look good while you’re drunk, in Scotty’s opinion. Jim would be damned if that isn’t true.

Bones is the only one Jim hasn’t brought around yet, not that this is of any surprise. Bones is a stubborn, annoying mule who frowns a lot and judges you constantly with his judging face. He only does it because he cares though, and he’s never been anything if not an amazing friend to Jim, so it’s alright.

It’s not the least bit shocking that that the face Bones is giving Jim right now is his judgy face, combined with some kind of weird anger that Jim is too tipsy and tired to understand.

“Fine,” Bones finally says, after a full minute of awkward silence where the only thing he does is stare at Jim, then stare and Scotty and Spock, who are casually talking about something very magical and very uninteresting behind Jim’s back, and then stare back at Jim.

Jim decides to jump into Scotty and Spock’s conversation in the hopes that Bones will follow his lead and they’ll have an amicable discussion about whatever it is Scotty and Spock are talking about. 

Bones does exactly this. The three of them then spend twenty minutes discussing the newest discovery made by the AAA, the Amazing Alchemists Association, now located under the basement of someone’s mum after their headquarters had exploded again for the sixth time that year. The discovery is about gold--or is it silver?--and the possibility of turning it into a wand core with the right technique.

Jim isn’t really paying attention. Alchemy has always flown a bit over his head with its completely nonsensical and mind-boggling Transfiguration laws, which, in his opinion, leave far too much to faith and luck for people to call Alchemy a proper, magical subject.

If the way the others are talking about the breakthrough like it’s the new philosopher’s stone is any indication though, they don’t seem to share Jim’s ideas. 

This doesn’t bother him at all. He is content to just make a comment here and there and watch his friends get along for the first time.

“Hey look at that,” Jim says, breaking the conversation flow and making everyone turn to where Sulu is sitting in the middle of the Beauxbatons girls, happily talking to them, “Sulu actually did it. Good for him.”

Spock raises his eyebrows in amusement at Jim’s comment at the same time as Scotty says, “Ohh, look at that. He looks like he’s having fun. Everyone, if you don’t mind, I think I’ll excuse myself to go join our Captain.”

“You’re not even from Gryffindor, you idiot! He’s not your captain, he’s mine!” Jim calls out.

“Jealous, Jim?” Bones asks, sarcastic grin splattered all over his smug face.

“I’m just being factual,” Jim mutters.

The conversation dies a bit after that, but luckily there isn’t enough time for any sort of awkward silence as they’re saved by the bell. Or, to be more accurate, saved by Headmaster Pike’s polite and quiet, while somehow still firm and commanding cough, which can be generally interpreted as ‘shut the fuck up, I have something important to say’.

“I hope everyone has enjoyed their meals tonight in the company of our new friends, who will, as everyone knows by now, stay here for the duration of this school year for the Triwizard Tournament,” Pike begins, reminding everyone of what he said not two hours ago when he gave his opening speech. It was quite beautiful. Sulu faked a couple of tears and Jim even conjured a handkerchief to loudly blow his nose.

“The champions that will represent each school will be picked on Halloween night, and to do that we shall use, as we always have, one of our world’s most powerful, magical artefacts. The Goblet of Fire,” with a flourish of his hand, a wand most likely concealed in his thin robes, the Goblet materializes out of thin air right next to him. “Students who wish to participate in the Tournament must be at least seventeen years old to do so, for safety measures. If you meet that requirement, all you have to do is write your name in a piece of parchment and put it in the fire.”

“However, I ask that everyone who wishes to enter take into consideration that this Tournament is no easy task. Your courage, your intelligence, your magical ability and many other qualities will be put into test if you choose to participate. After your name is chosen, you are not allowed to quit.”

“That being said, I wish everyone the best of luck. May the best champions be picked and may this be the greatest Triwizard Tournament so far,” Pike finishes, flashing everyone one of his trademark classy-as-hell smiles that Jim is a personal fan of. Nothing says ‘I’m better than you’ than a super classy smile like Pike’s.

Everyone cheers, wizard hats are thrown into the air in drunken celebration, glasses are raised and drinks are spilled all over the place. Jim thinks it’s a wonderful start to the rest of a wonderful year. 

Then again, Jim’s had two more drinks since he got to the Ravenclaw table and he’s well on his way past the point of ‘tipsy’. The stuff just seems to go down his throat like he’s a bloody fish. By now Jim thinks swimming with the merpeople in the Black Lake is a wonderful idea. Or attaching some feathers to his back and jumping off the Astronomy tower to see if he can fly. Or running into a tapestry in the hopes that there’s a hidden passageway behind it, and not cold, stone wall.

“Alright then, time to get you to bed,” Bones says after Jim starts commenting on how hot it is in the Great Hall. Seriously, how is anyone still wearing clothes? Jim is dying here and he needs to take off his shirt now if he wants to live. Spock in particular seems to be wearing far too many layers. Jim’s been staring at him for some time now, a lazy need to take off all of Spock’s clothes and let him breathe for the first time clouding his mind.

Bones, the lazy git, decides to climb over the table to get to Jim’s side instead of going around it. This is quite understandable considering otherwise he’d have to walk all the way to the entrance of the hall and then back again to get to Jim and really, what is even up with that? It’s not like cutting the tables into pieces would take long, anyway.

Jim makes a mental note to annoy Pike about it next time he gets called up to the old office. In the past Jim used to be called about once a month for getting into trouble, now he’s just called up for a chat and a cup of tea. Time really does change people.

“We eat here,” Jim complains.

“You’re the one who started this.”

“I did?”

He did, in his second year, when he got tired of having to walk so much to get to Bones. The idea quickly spread like wildfire and before Jim knew it everyone was doing the same thing. It is quite practical, even if unhygienic. 

“Yes, Jim,” Bones says with a sigh, like dealing with Jim’s antics is some kind of insufferable hardship. Jim has half a mind to say something about being a little bundle of perfection and Bones should be paying him for his company, not constantly complaining about it.

Instead he notices Spock, who is still sitting at the table looking at them with the tiniest hint of fondness. Or maybe looking at just Jim.

“Goodnight, Spock! I’ll see you tomorrow!” Jim calls out loudly as Bones drags him away with a strong hand on Jim’s shoulder.

“Good night, Kirk,” Spock says quietly, his voice getting almost drowned out in the chaotic hormone-pumped noise surrounding them. 

“Jim! Call me Jim!

Spock shakes his head, possibly in amusement, but most likely in disagreement. Jim frowns for a second before Bones’ grip on him makes him turn around towards where his feet are going. 

Jim manages to walk like a human being, which is to say without tripping over his own two feet every three seconds, until they leave the Great Hall.

However, the second he and Bones step out from beneath the stone archway, all the noise and ruckus from before practically evaporate and with them Jim’s energy. They are drowned by the low light of lonely torches and it doesn’t take too long for Jim to be hit by a heavy sleepiness, guided by the alcohol in his bloodstream.

From then on, Jim finds walking far too hard for him. He’d give up and just pass out right where he is if it weren’t for Bones, who only groans a little in complaint when Jim leans all of his weight on him.

With an arm around Jim’s shoulder, Bones begins to, in the essence of the word, carry Jim up the stairs to the seventh floor.

“Why is your dorm room in the damn clouds? Seriously, would it hurt you guys to sleep on a normal floor like the rest of us?” grumpy Bones says.

“You sleep in a tower too! And Slytherin sleeps in the dungeons,” Jim protests, “that hardly counts as ‘normal’.”

Bones huffs in response but doesn’t say anything.

The next time he speaks, only two floors away from the Gryffindor Tower, he sounds almost like a different person. His voice is low and almost husky, matching a tone that would qualify as most people’s normal speech but sounds fundamentally weird and disturbing on Bones, who has a tendency to be exceedingly loud even when he’s whispering.

“So, you want to tell me what’s up with you and Spock?”

“There’s nothing up with me and Spock.”

“Really? Then I’m guessing it was just my imagination, and you did not just spend the past twenty minutes making googly eyes at him.”

Jim shakes his head. He’s too tired and drunk to properly tell Bones he’s acting like an inquisitive arsehole and Bones knows it, having chosen the perfect opportunity to quiz him when he is at his most defenseless state. And they say there’s still honour among men.

“We’re just friends. Good friends. Friends that get along well. And he’s--Spock, he’s great, yeah? He knows all these things about space and he’s bloody awesome at Quidditch and he’s really fun to talk to.”

“And that’s all there is?” Bones asks, making Jim sigh loudly in annoyance.

“What do you mean, ‘that’s all there is’? Yes, that’s all there is. Should there be anything else?”

“Whatever you say, Jim.”

They lapse into silence, not another word spoken until they’re inside Jim’s dorm room, next to Jim’s bed where Bones drops him off by pushing Jim forward until Jim falls on the bed like a wet paper towel.

“Goodnight. Don’t let your hangover kill you,” Bones says. Jim has half a mind to flip him the bird, but all he manages to do is weakly lift his hand before letting it fall back on the covers.

He falls asleep in less than five seconds.

\------------//------------

The first time Jim wakes up it is to the sound of someone vomiting.

The realization that it’s not him is good enough to make him go back to sleep.

The second time he wakes up, he does it because of the pounding inside his head, which is reaching skull-crushing proportions. 

Jim’s hands go on the search for his wand with Jim’s eyes still closed and his body still in an awkward, half-crouched, half-splattered-all-over-the-bed position. Jim is led by a vague sense of hope that once he finds the stupid thing, he’ll be able to cast a Muffliato spell on his head and go back to sleep for the third time.

After a couple of minutes of patting himself, all of his pockets, and the bed, Jim find his wand on his nightstand, on top of a random assortment of various Astronomy books, most lent to him by Spock. It was probably put there by Bones, who worries and cares about Jim more than he deserves and because of that also put on Jim’s nightstand a  Rid of All Ill Heads and Woozy Stomachs potion, which tastes like rat’s ass but works wonder for hangovers.

Jim drinks the whole thing in one long, disgusting swig and throws himself back on the bed when he’s done.

The headache is the first thing that clears away, followed by the pain in his stomach and the feeling that the sun is trying to burn his eyes every time Jim opens them. Still, as a precaution, Jim decides to sleep for a little while longer.

By the third time he wakes up that morning, the sun is already high up on the sky, partially hidden by clouds as always and telling Jim’s poor internal clock that it’s past noon.

Jim takes a long, lazy shower before he puts on a simple white shirt, his black trousers and his Gryffindor tie, heading out for the Great Hall with a small trot to his step.

Hopefully, he will find food and company there. If not, he can always raid the kitchens and go back to bed.

The paintings scattered through the hallways keep him company as always. Most pay no mind to him, as they usually do, too accustomed to seeing students walk past them everyday to be bothered by them. However some others peer at Jim and even comment on his clothes. They say his outfit is not weather appropriate or according to the school’s rules, others even going as far as to loudly complain about how the quality of students in Hogwarts has gone down drastically over the centuries.

Jim pays them no mind. The paintings always have something to say.

He says ‘hi’ to a couple of people he knows, stopping once to chat for a bit with  Popplewell from his Astronomy class.  Popplewell tells him he’s been in the Great Hall since early morning, watching everyone put their names in the Goblet of Fire. So far most of the Beauxbatons girls and Durmstrang boys have put their names, although some had yet to show up. From Hogwarts only a couple of people had put their names in, mostly from Gryffindor.

Jim walks a bit more quickly after that, anxious to put his name on the cup as well. He knows it’s silly of him to feel such a rush, after all the date they pick out the champions will not change regardless of when Jim puts in his name but still. You never know. Maybe the giant squid will feel like taking a stroll out of the lake tomorrow and swallow the Goblet.

Alright. That probably won’t happen, but whatever. Jim still wants to write his name and put it in the fire as soon as possible.

When he enters the Great Hall, Jim is greeted by the sight of much cheering and clapping. There is a group of people forming a scattered circle around the Goblet, with other people sitting on the a couple of wood benches pressed against a wall that had definitely not been there the night before. The twin girls Jim had seen when the Beauxbatons coach arrived--the same two Jim somehow convinced Sulu to talk to--have just put their names in the Goblet, walking away with smiles that could turn knees to jello.

They wave at Jim as they pass by him and Jim waves back awkwardly, momentarily dumbfounded by the power of two gorgeous girls smiling at him like that. 

So Jim’s a bit superficial, sue him.

A couple of steps in, Jim notices Spock sitting on the corner of one of the wood benches, eyes set on his lap, where he’s probably holding a book. Jim’s feet take him to Spock practically of their own volition.

“Hello. Didn’t expect to see you here.”

Spock looks up, lifting the corners of his mouth just the smallest bit when he sees Jim sitting next to him. “I was outside at first, but the wind was too strong for me to read comfortably so I came inside.”

“And decided to go to the Great Hall, where everyone is, instead of going to your dear library?” Jim teases.

He doesn’t expect to get a reaction out of Spock, so Jim’s surprised when his friend blushes and looks away for a second to gather a proper reply.

“I wanted to...” Spock begins. When he doesn’t finish his sentence, Jim does it for him, feeling bad about embarrassing Spock, even if he doesn’t know what exactly is so embarrassing.

“Wanted to get a first look at the action. I get you,” Jim says, even though he thinks it’s very unlikely that’s the reason why Spock is there.

They fall into silence, watching the people stand around the circle talk between themselves until Spock says, “Everyone from Beauxbatons has already put their name in.”

“Everyone? Damn, they move fast. What about Durmstrang?” Jim asks, nodding his head towards a group of Durmstrang students sitting on the bench opposite theirs.

“Most have put their names in, but some are still missing.”

Jim hums. He’s still looking at the Durmstrang guys, whom he now notices are staring back at him with distasteful sneers on their faces, whispering between themselves without breaking eye contact. Jim finds himself compelled to outstare them, but fails after what feels like an entire hour of watching the assholes stare at him like he’s less than dirt. What’s up with that? This tournament is supposed to be about making international friendships and all that, not hate people you’ve never met.

“Who are those guys? And why are they looking at me like they want to crush me with their furred boots?” Jim asks after he finally gives up trying to outlast the snow-born jerks.

“Not you,” Spock replies calmly, making Jim turn his head to look at him.

“They don’t like me,” Spock says without being prompted.

“Why?” Jim asks. Spock might come off as a bit of a cold bastard, but he’s actually a pretty decent guy once you get to know him. Jim can’t imagine anyone disliking him so much that they stare at him for Merlin knows how long with so much hate in their eyes. Not even questioning why they’d hate Spock, who, as far as Jim knows, was born and bred in England and has never been to Durmstrang territory.

Spock hesitates before he explains, but the force of Jim’s stare seems to push the answer out of him. “My father used to be the Headmaster of Durmstrang but he quit when he married my mother.”

Jim waits for Spock to continue and when he doesn’t, he says, “That’s it? Those guys are all prissy about that?”

“Durmstrang is a highblood school, Kirk. You need to be of a certain status to go there, much higher to be Headmaster.” Spock says, implying what Jim already knows - that his father is probably from magical royalty and Spock’s impersonal personality comes from his, most likely, incredibly strict upbringing. Got it. “My father’s decision was not taken well by the people there, students, parents and members of the local magical community alike.”

“So, what you’re saying is, basically, your father got shit for marrying your mother and now you’re getting it too?”

“Yes. Basically, yes.”

“That’s pretty shitty.” Jim says, nodding to himself, “and here I thought I had a messed up family.”

This time it is Spock’s turn to stare at Jim, who, reluctantly, decides to share his story. It’s the least he can do after Spock shared his.

“Mom and Dad were both Aurors. Dad died on the job, Mum never got over it. She says she sees him every time she looks at me,” Jim says, shaking his head.

“Things are just... weird. I know she cares about me a lot, but I can’t be around her, you know? It’s just too... much. Seeing the pain in her eyes, wondering what she’s really thinking when she looks at me. It’s too much. My brother, Sam, he says he feels the same. He lives in Australia now, researches the local flora and their healing properties.”

Jim regrets his words the second he says them, feels like he said too much and too little at the same time, thinks Spock isn’t ready to hear about his weird, dysfunctional family yet. But then again, Spock doesn’t seem to be the sort of guy who cares about that kind of stuff. Spock is more of the kind that cares about what you’re made of, not what made you.

Jim gets proof of this when the only thing Spock says, “I’m sorry,” and looks like he genuinely means it.

Hiding his momentary sadness behind a grin, Jim lets out a shaky laugh before he says, in tones that are probably too cheerful, “Enough of this! Do you have a piece of paper? I want to put my name in.”

Spock turns to the last page of his book and rips out a tiny piece of paper, surprising Jim, who thought Spock was the sort of guy who loved books with all his heart and treated them like children. 

“I don’t have a quill,” Spock says.

“That’s alright, I’ll bother someone else for that. You sure you don’t want to put your name in?” 

“Yes, Kirk. I am sure,” Spock replies, faintly amused.

“Jim. Seriously, call me Jim.”

At this point, Jim is almost hundred percent sure Spock is only calling him by his last name to annoy him. Unfortunately, there’s very little Jim can do about it since even if Jim stopped asking Spock to call him by his first name, he’s pretty sure Spock would persist in calling him by his last. Some guys are stupidly stubborn like that. 

Jim knows this from first-hand experience since he, too, is one of those guys.

One of the second years around the circle gives him a quill. Jim hastily scribbles his name in barely legible handwriting.  James T. Kirk . 

“Well, here goes nothing,” Jim mutters to himself before he gives the kid back his quill and steps into the circle. 

Some people cheer, mostly the guys from his house and everyone politely claps when Jim puts the paper in the red fire. 

A lick of flames shoots up with Jim’s fingers just out of reach, turning pink for a second. Jim nods to himself and steps back.

“I did it,” Jim says when he’s reached the bottom rows of the bench Spock is sitting on.

“Indeed, you did. Good luck.” 

“Thanks,” Jim says, even though he thinks Spock is being sarcastic. “I’m going to look for Sulu now; I think he wants us to have Quidditch practice tomorrow morning. Wanna meet again at the library today? I think the books we ordered for the project got here yesterday.”

“I will be there.”

“Great. See ya.” Jim waves at Spock as he leaves, passing by the crowd of students still staring at the Goblet like it’s some sort of ancient, magical artefact, which technically it is, but doesn’t really qualify as such since the Ministry brings it out every four years for the Tournament.

Jim finds Sulu exactly where he expected Sulu to be. In the Transfiguration Courtyard, talking to a couple of Beauxbatons girls with Chekov looking all shy and embarrassed by his side as Sulu probably spills a couple of tragic, one-liners.

Jim thinks their friendship is kind of cute. They bonded over their love of magical trading cards, something most people get over in their second year but Sulu and Chekov are, for some reason, still big on. They spend almost all of their time together during the breaks, even though they share no classes, since Chekov is two years younger than the rest of them. Jim is pretty sure there’s something else going on there that he’s not in on yet, but he’s not going to quiz Sulu about it if Sulu doesn’t want to tell him.

He’s going to get Bones to do it, because quizzing people about things they don’t want to talk about is a fundamental requirement to be an awesome healer and that’s exactly what Bones is.

“Jim, hey!” Sulu calls out, waving his hand for Jim to see him, like Sulu’s energetic presence and speech height isn’t enough to draw the attention of the whole courtyard.

“Hello,” Jim says, smooth like a tub of butter.

“Jim, these are Azealia and Atealia,” Sulu says, pointing to the twin girls that Jim had passed by earlier. One of them twirls her hair in her finger while the other gives him a little wave, “and these are Marguerite, Camille and Chloé.”

The other girls give him a little wave as well, smiling politely. “We were just talking about the tournament. Did you put your name in yet?”

“Yup, just did it a couple of minutes ago. You?” 

“Same, although I don’t expect to be picked now that you’ve put your name in,” Sulu says, always flattering and honest and terribly embarrassing. Jim now understands why Chekov’s blush seems to be a permanent fixture on his face.

“Oh?” one of the French girls says. Jim hadn’t quite caught their names.

“Jim’s the epitome of the Gryffindor spirit. He’s always rushing off to help and putting himself in danger for others. He’d make the perfect Hogwarts champion.”

“I don’t--” Jim begins before he’s cut off by Sulu, who apparently is having none of Jim’s self-deprecating nature today.

“You saved my life in third year when I went to the dark forest on a dare and got ambushed by the spiders. And when the potions classroom exploded you stayed there until everyone was safe and got the worst out of the deal for it. And you’re always helping the first years when they’re in trouble. And--”

“Alright, alright, I get the message. That doesn’t mean I’m gonna get picked though, I just did what anyone would do in those situations.”

Sulu huffs and Chekov takes the opportunity to pipe up and say, “you shouldn’t diminish your actions, Jim. They were very brave.” Because he’s some sort of Holy Grail of fifteen-year-old wisdom now.

“Is that so? You’re going to be the Hogwarts champion?” Azealia, the girl closest to Jim, asks, a spark of interest burning in her eyes. “Me and my sister are going to be the Beauxbatons champions.”

“Both of you?” Jim asks, making a faulty impression of Spock’s raised eyebrow of condescending doom.

The twins laugh, smiling like they’re both in on a secret.

Jim looks at Sulu for an answer, but Sulu just shrugs, as clueless as Jim.

“Okay... If you say so. Good luck,” Jim says, slightly unsure, before he turns to Sulu, “Are we still on for tomorrow morning, right?”

“Quidditch practice? Yes, although I was thinking we could also have practice today, to make sure we’re ready for the match—”

“Sulu, Sulu, Sulu…” Jim begins, shaking his head in fake exasperation. Jim had been waiting for Sulu to start scheduling practice over practice over practice. He does it every year. It’s not his fault, he just worries a lot and tries to compensate by practicing his team to death. It’d be a smart move if it weren’t so exhausting.

“We’ve talked about this. Two practices a week, three before important matches. Don’t tire us to death, Captain.”

At the mention of the word ‘Captain’ Sulu straightens his shoulders, remembering that it’s part of his duties to not only make sure his team is the best one out there, but also ensure no one’s on the brink of a physical or mental breakdown.

“Now, if you don’t mind, I haven’t had breakfast yet and I’m starving. Chekov, Ladies,” Jim says as he gives everyone a tiny, goodbye nod and takes his leave.

Jim eats in the kitchen with the house elves, who are always happy to see him ever since Jim helped put out a magical fire in one of their stoves, which, admittedly, Jim created by using the stove for more recreational inclined purposes than it was built for. Not that those tiny little details matter.

The house elves cook him a proper English breakfast, just in time too as the effects of Bones’ potion wear off.

After eating Jim decides to spend some time talking to the elves, who tell him about all the weird stuff the foreign students ordered during the night and for breakfast. Apparently they’re really big on croissants and hot chocolate. Go figure.

When he’s done gossiping, Jim decides to head for the library, thinking Spock will already be there.

Spock isn’t there yet. Jim is a bit surprised. Spock is always early or strictly on time for everything, while Jim is lucky if he’s not five minutes late to most of his classes.

While he waits for Spock, Jim plays with his quill and stares longingly at the window. The sun’s come out from behind the clouds today, just a tiny bit but enough to make Jim want to go to the lake and take a nap there. Inside the library everything smells of dust and oldness, as it always does, shelves upon shelves full of books cornering Jim in an almost threatening manner.

Jim’s never liked the library much. He likes books, no question about that, but the library feels like a mouse trap, too many rows of shelves that look all the same covering his eyesight.

After waiting for what feels like an eternity for Spock, nearly forty-five minutes, Jim decides he’s had enough. He packs his things in an annoyed rush, storming out of the library in direction of the lake. If Spock doesn’t have the decency to show up like they’d agreed, probably lost in one of his books or something, then Jim doesn’t have the decency to wait for him.

Deciding to take a shortcut to not waste any more time, Jim goes down the Serpentine Corridor until the very end, which opens to the entrance of Greenhouse Three. From there Jim only has to cross the greenhouse, currently home to a lot of sleeping mandrakes, most snoring peacefully as Jim passes by.

However, Jim wishes they weren’t, as it’d make scaring the crap out of the Durmstrang students currently on a five versus one spell fight far easier.

Jim doesn’t even think about it, he just starts running, pulling his wand out as his feet kick the floor until he’s a few scarce metres away from the castle wall, where the Durmstrang students have formed a circle and are firing spells mercilessly against someone trapped in the middle. 

Whoever it might be is putting up a good fight if the two knocked out Durmstrang boys and the scorch marks on the ground and on the wall are of any indication, although Jim doubts they’ll last much longer. They might be good, but five snow-born bulls are better.

Jim’s heart skips a beat when he gets close enough to see who the person they’re fighting is, but he can’t say he’s taken aback. After all, Spock had told him how Durmstrang felt about him and his family.

“Oi, get the fuck away from my friend, you fucktrucks!” Jim would be embarrassed of his poor insult if the only thought on his mind right now weren’t bloody murder.

Everyone knows Jim’s main interests are Astronomy, Quidditch, training to be a great Auror, his friends and food. This is common knowledge that anyone with a decent pair of eyeballs and ears can uncover for themselves. What most people do not know though, is that Jim is also part of the Duelling Club and got Outstanding in all of his O.W.L.S in wand-related classes. 

Jim actually got Outstanding, the highest possible score, in all of his classes, but that’s beside the point, which is that Jim can fight well during practice when he’s in a safe, the-hospital-wing-is-right-there environment, but he’s far better when he’s mad and there is some real danger. Then Jim is all focused, cold eyes and sparks out of his fingertips.

Bones says he looks scary as hell. Jim hopes he looks sort of cool and wishes someone would take a photo of him so he can admire himself afterwards.

Although a picture of him right now would most likely look unflattering, as Jim’s tight grip on his wand tells him all of his veins probably look like they’re about to pop out and Jim’s open nostrils make him look like an angry chimpanzee. Still, at least the Durmstrang tossers stop throwing spells at Spock and are now paying attention to Jim, who already has a spell on the tip of his tongue.

“ Cantis ,” Jim shouts, wand pointed straight at the Durmstrang kids, whom Jim is sure are the ones that were giving Spock the stink eye earlier. After the fraction of a second it takes for the spell to hit them, they all break into an Irish song, mouths moving of their own accord.

Jim lets out a happy, terrifying looking grin. He’s always been a big fan of this spell. Most people think it’s stupid, but what they don’t realize is that if their opponent is too busy singing to talk, then their opponent is also too busy to cast spells.

“ Mucus ad Nauseam ,” Jim says, because he’s a vindictive asshole like that. The spell will give all of them a massive cold and an extremely runny nose for at least a good week.

By now the Durmstrang lot is looking lost and confused, most likely used to brute spell fights that start with  bombarda maxima and end with  avada kedavra , which, alright, Jim is mostly running off his mouth now, but he hasn’t been given any evidence pointing otherwise so far.

As his anger dissipates over watching his opponents struggle so pathetically, Jim takes pity on them and casts a  depulso spell that sends them all flying into the lake, the fight ending in mere seconds.

Once they’re out of his eyesight, Jim allows himself a moment to feel proud of his achievements, that is until he sees Spock propped against the wall, blood trailing down his face onto his clothes.

“Dammit. Spock!”

“I am alright, James.”

“Really? James?” Jim asks, letting out a big sigh that is half exasperation, half relief. If Spock’s well enough to call him James, then he doesn’t have any serious injuries. “Don’t move.”

Jim kneels down by Spock’s side and takes a look at his wounds. There’s a blood stain on his hip and a small cut on his forehead, but besides that nothing looks alarming or dangerous.

“We’ve got to get you to the Hospital Wing.” 

“No!” Spock practically shouts, a look of... fear (or is it panic?) in his eyes. “I don’t want to attract any more attention.”

“Spock, you’ve gotta--” Jim begins before he’s cut off by Spock’s very decided, very stubborn voice.

“No.” 

Jim sighs again, only this time it’s out of exasperation. He’s only been friends with Spock for about two months, but he already knows there’s no point in arguing when the idiot has got something in his head. It’d just end up with him and Spock bickering until Spock fainted from blood loss, something Spock absolutely does not need right now.

“Fine, then at least let me get Bones. He’s training to be a Healer, and he’s patched me countless times through the years. He’ll know what to do with you.”

Spock reluctantly agrees, nodding slowly with apprehensive eyes, like he’s expecting Jim to bolt any second now and raise everyone’s attention to Spock’s hurt form. Jim resents him for that, but only a little bit. He hopes with time Spock will trust him enough to not think such things of him.

Jim takes one of his notebooks out of his backpack, ripping out an empty page to scribble down a hurried note to Bones.

‘Come quick. Spock is hurt. Outside next to Greenhouse Three.’

In a succession of quick, crude hand movements, Jim shapes the piece of paper to look like a tiny airplane and then picks up his wand, muttering under his breath, “ invenerit Bones.”

The airplane takes to the air, spinning in circles for a couple of seconds before it fixes on a position and shoots towards it.

“I don’t know that spell,” Spock murmurs.

“Don’t talk, you’re hurt,” Jim says pushing up Spock’s shirt to take a look at his wound.

It’s vivid red with a couple of nasty scorch marks at the edges. It looks like it isn’t bleeding - much - anymore. Jim pulls the shirt back down and carefully takes Spock’s robe off his shoulders to press them against the wound.

“And you shouldn’t know it, since I made it up myself. It’s sort of a derivation from the one the Ministry of Magic uses, but more simple and effective. Theirs are always getting confused and going the wrong way.”

“And yours do not?”

“Nope, although mine don’t last as long as theirs.”

They fall into silence, Jim with his hand pressed against Spock’s injured hip while Spock looks at everywhere but Jim.

“So, you want to tell me what happened here?”

Spock looks away uncomfortably, like he’d rather do anything but that, but the force of Jim’s stare - and, possibly, the force of Jim’s hand against his wound - gets an answer out of him, even if not a very good one.

“I decided to take a walk by the lake after I left the Great Hall. They followed me and dragged me out here for a fight, which I was handling rather--” Jim’s stare turns to a glare, “adequately.”

“Adequately? Seriously? You were on the ground when I got here.”

“They were seven! And I took two down,” Spock complains, trying to glare at Jim but failing miserably because of the bleeding gap on his head. He manages to get blood in his left eye instead.

Jim shakes his head while looking down, a sudden fondness over his ridiculous Ravenclaw friend threatening to clog his throat. “And you probably would have taken them all down if they hadn’t ambushed you. It’s alright, Spock. I don’t think anyone stood a chance in a fight like that.”

Spock looks like he wants to argue. It would kill Jim to have lost a duel like that, and Spock is nothing if not a perfectionist. Jim decides to change the topic. “Are you going to tell Headmaster Pike about this?”

“It would ruin the tournament. According to Hogwarts laws, the seven Durmstrang students that attacked me would be banned from Hogwarts grounds and sent back to Durmstrang. I doubt the rest of their peers would wish to stay after that.”

“You don’t care about the tournament, though.”

“No,” Spock concedes. “But you and the rest of the school do.”

“That’s kind of a dumb move. You know that, right? You shouldn’t jeopardize your safety for the sake of a silly tournament.” Jim’s heart clenches painfully as he calls the lovely, wonderful, super awesome Triwizard Tournament ‘silly’, although he cannot deny that it isn’t true.

After all, the Triwizard Tournament is just that - a tournament. Spock’s health, on the other hand, is far more important, especially if it’s being put in danger by said tournament’s dumbass participants.

Excluding the fact that audience members and friends of the champions often get hurt during the tournament due to unfortunate accidents, of course.

“I doubt they’ll attempt an attack on me again if they ever manage to get out of the lake,” Spock says, smiling a little bit and making Jim crack a smile of his own.

At that moment, Bones decides to finally take his cue and shows up with his old, leather-beaten healer’s bag and a very judgmental frown.

“What the hell happened, Jim?” Bones asks when he reaches their side, always quick to assume that whatever happened was Jim’s fault. Granted, usually it is, but nevertheless Jim’s still offended by the assumption.

Sometimes it is only partially his fault.

“The sons of Durmstrang are a bunch of beasts,” Jim says, unsure of how much he can say without invading Spock’s privacy. Jim knows Spock isn’t big on sharing information about his private life.

“Tell me something I don’t know. Most of those guys walk like bulls, flaring their nostrils all the time and glaring at everyone. Stuck-up pricks.”

Bones kneels down by Jim’s side, still rambling on how four years ago everyone and their moms would swear the Durmstrang boys were just the nicest, politest boys to ever exist and how something big must have changed to make them all act like that. While he speaks, he gives Jim a look that clearly says ‘you still have a lot of explaining to do’ and then, because Bones is amazing, he gets down to work on fixing Spock without asking any other questions about what happened.

Jim watches in silence as Bones takes out a couple of potions from his bag and opens one that looks like honey, removing Spock’s robes from the wound on his hip to drop a couple of drops in it. He then does the same for the cut on Spock’s forehead and both injuries let out wisps of smoke that look wildly uncomfortable before they begin to heal, red marks disappearing right in front of Jim’s eyes.

Bones stares at both injuries silently for a couple of seconds, his face the usual cold, stone mask he wears whenever he’s focusing hard on something. He pulls out wand from his pocket and aims it at Spock’s hip before he begins to murmur a slow enchantment, words dropping from his lips quietly as his eyes glaze over. Spock hisses, whole body tensing for a couple of seconds until he relaxes again.

“You should be alright. Just a couple days of rest and a small scar and it’ll be like this whole thing never happened. I’m guessing you don’t want to go to the hospital wing?”

Spock shakes his head.

“I figured. I can’t promise you anything. I’m not a healer yet, but I’ve fixed the Quidditch teams enough times to recognize a serious wound when I see one, and this isn’t it.”

“Bones works as an intern for Madam Alencar three times a week at the hospital wing.” Jim adds, thinking it’s worth nothing that while Bones isn’t a healer, he’s been practicing to be one for three years now and he knows his shit.

“C’mon, let’s get you up,” Bones says, wrapping an arm around Spock’s waist to pull him up. Once on his own two feet, Spock can walk on his own, if not very quickly and without looking like he’s about to trip every two seconds.

They go to the Ravenclaw tower, Bones solving the riddle without even needing to think and saying, “go in ahead. I’ll help you get in your bed in a second.”

“Thank you, McCoy, but I think I am capable of putting myself to bed.”

“Shut up, Bowl-Cut. I’m helping you and that’s the end of it. No way you’re getting worse on my watch.”

Spock glares and Bones glares back and it’s almost poetic, Jim thinks, like suns clashing.

Spock is the first one to break, looking away from Bones’ scowl to Jim’s dazed grin, “I’ll see you tomorrow, James.”

“Good luck, Spock.” Jim turns to leave, but before he gets the chance to take a step, one of Bones’s arms shoots towards his shoulder and grips it tight to hold Jim in place.

“So, now you want to tell me what happened?” Bones asks once Spock has gone in.

“Durmstrang hates Spock and his family.”

“Why?”

Jim squirms and gives Bones an apologetic look. “That’s not for me to say, Bones. It’s his story and he only told me because he trusts me.”

“Alright, alright- you don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to. Will they try something like this again?”

“Probably. They don’t look like the sort of guys who take defeat well.”

“And I bet you gave them a hell of a run. You hit them with the singing spell?” Bones asks, already smiling to himself as he guesses Jim’s answer.

“And a nasty cold as well before I sent them off to the lake.”

“Nicely done, kid.”

Jim rolls his eyes. “We’re the same age.”

“Yeah, yeah. Keep telling yourself that. Anyway, I’m guessing we’re his personal bodyguards now.”

“Absolutely.” Jim grins. He knows Spock will not be okay with Jim and his friends - because they’re not the sort to leave Jim alone regardless of whether or not Jim wants them to - following him everywhere, but if he thought Jim was going to let him keep his lonesome, dangerous ways after this, he’s quite mistaken. “Keep him in check, will you? I need to take a nap.”

“See you at dinner,” Bones says, waving Jim off.

Jim smiles to himself the entire time it takes him to get to the Gryffindor Tower. Spock getting hurt was absolute shit and Jim is sure they haven’t seen the end of it yet, most likely haven’t even seen the beginning. Nevertheless, Bones had come to the rescue immediately and he’d said ‘we’ instead of ‘you’ when referring to their new jobs as Spock’s bodyguards and well, that’s something. That’s really something.

Yes, Jim’s corny and sappy. He likes long walks on the beach, romantic dinners and having all of his friends get along. Who doesn’t?


	3. How To Cure Headaches - Chopping Your Head Off & Other Easy Methods

From that day onwards, Bones and Scotty keep Spock company until breakfast, not letting him out of their eyesight for a second. At the Great Hall they’re joined by Jim, Sulu and Chekov, who join Bodyguards Anonymous and stay on Spock’s side for the rest of the day.

Spock catches on to their plan the first day.

Spock’s smart. There was no way in hell they could pretend they were just trying to be extra friendly for a long period of time. Maybe for a day or two if Spock’s head injury had been bigger, but Spock would figured out something was up when Jim walked him to his advanced Ancient Runes class.

Another unsurprising thing is Spock not taking their actions well, although, to his credit, he doesn’t look the least bit shocked by them. Instead, he just glares at them a lot, replies to any of their questions with monosyllabic answers and tries to dodge them and flee every ten minutes.

After two days of this, Jim and Spock fight. Or maybe ‘fight’ isn’t the right word. The more correct way of putting it would be to say that they spend a good part of an hour arguing through aggressive whispers and pointed fingers in a dark corridor near the art classrooms.

Jim wins in the end by saying Spock either accepts them as his personal protectors for the remaining of the school year or he’s telling Pike.

Spock doesn’t speak to him for the rest of the week. It’s worth it.

It’s also incredibly awkward. Sulu, Chekov and Scotty fill in all the uncomfortable silences with either terrible jokes or nonsensical comments, like how the sky is a particularly delightful shade of grey today. Jim glares a lot, Spock glares back and Bones sighs every few minutes like the whole thing is completely insufferable and he’s a step away from stabbing himself on the face with a fork.

Jim and Spock kiss and make-up - figuratively - on Halloween night.

It’s all Bones’ doing, as most things in life are. The decision comes from Bones being sick and tired of watching Jim and Spock glare at each other all the time like a pair of vicious children. The solution Bones employs to solve their ridiculous, little fight is quite simple.

Halfway through dinner, Bones gets up, goes to the Ravenclaw table, grabs Spock and Scotty and drags them back to the Gryffindor table, where he had been eating dinner with Sulu and Jim. Scotty goes along without any protest, tries to finish his pumpkin juice and a slice of ham while walking and manages to get food stains all over his clothes instead. Spock, on the other hand, throws a bit of a fight as he tries to free himself from Bones’ grasp. A quick jab to his injured hip, which is still healing painfully and slowly much to everyone’s annoyance, ensures Spock’s silence, even if it is accompanied by the world’s biggest sour face.

“You two are going to do me, yourselves and everyone else a favour now by pretending to be adults for five minutes, talking about whatever weird issue you’ve got going on and making up so we can all go back to normal, understood?”

Bones drops Spock next to Jim with more force than needed and doesn’t wait for either of their replies before he turns away. With a little push, he makes Scotty go over the table to sit by Sulu’s side with their backs against the walls so they can all sit away from Jim and Spock while they talk.

“I’m only trying to look after you,” Jim says without any of the bitter anger that had accompanied his voice throughout the week. Instead, he sounds defeated and tired. Jim’s the sort of guy who always sticks to his guts and never gives up if he knows he’s right, which is what’s happening right now with him and Spock. However, that doesn’t mean he has to like doing it.

“I can look after myself.” Spock says while staring fixedly at the plate of food that had appeared in front of him, full of Halloween-themed food.

“I know that, but those guys are sneaky as hell and I can’t let anything happen to you.”

“I am not your responsibility, James, nor your pity case and I refuse to be--”

Jim grabs Spock’s wrist and pulls Spock towards him to get him to stop talking for a second because that’s not what this is, that’s not it at all. “I know all of that. You’re my friend and that’s it. But that’s also why I care about you and want to make sure you’re safe because you’re my friend, Spock. No pity case, no anything.”

Spock remains silent, still staring at his food, so Jim gives him a little nudge with his shoulder, faux-happiness in place. “C’mon. I know you don’t like unfair fights anyway. It’s only fair if it’s us against them.”

“Alright,” Spock finally concedes. He stabs a potato from his vegetarian dinner with his knife and brings it to his mouth, looking like he’s not quite comfortable with what he’s agreed to yet but getting there.

Jim lets out a big relief sigh that he had no idea he’d been holding. “Thank you.”

“Now, when is Pike announcing the champions? The ghosts already threw bat wings at Slytherins so it should be about time. I’m getting jittery,” Jim says.

Jim leans back to take a good look at the high table, where all the professors are busy laughing loudly at their own jokes and making silly spells fly around the table like a bunch of schoolchildren. As if right on cue with Jim’s thoughts, Headmaster Pike gets up, smoothes his robes, which are far too big for his skinny figure, and goes over to the podium to speak.

“Good evening, everyone. I hope you have enjoyed your Halloween night so far.” Pike smiles and all the pumpkins unexpectedly dash to the staff table, standing a couple of metres above the professors’ heads and to make silly faces at everyone. “There are more Halloween celebrations yet to come, but for now, I think it’s time to do what you’ve all been waiting for: choosing the champions for this year’s Triwizard Tournament!”

Everyone cheers and Pike lifts his hands in the air, practically gloating. He’s always liked some attention, the old man. Jim claps his hands together and hollers despite himself. Even Spock smiles a little.

“It’s your time to shine, Jim,” somebody - probably Sulu says - and Jim wants desperately to say yes, yes it is, but refrains at the last minute.

Practically everyone from Gryffindor and most of Hufflepuff put their names in, as well as a good number of Slytherins and a couple of Ravenclaws. There are some good contestants out there like Sulu, Uhura and Gary Mitchell, who could all give Jim a run for his money. Jim will never forget that time Charlie from Hufflepuff nearly blew half the school away on accident.

Jim might be known for reckless, completely unthought acts of heroism where the only thing going through his head is saving everyone and getting the fuck out of there, but that doesn’t mean he’ll be picked. He does think he has a slight advantage though, so there’s always that.

Pike walks to the Goblet of Fire slowly, smiling like a bastard the whole time. “The champion for Beauxbatons is...”

A piece of paper shoots from the flames and floats in the air for a couple of seconds before it begins its journey down. Pike catches it in a quick movement and brings it close to his eyes. “Azealia Maheux.”

Everyone from Beauxbatons gets up immediately, applauding and screaming in French while white sparks go off above them. From near the front of the Ravenclaw table one of the twin girls Jim had seen more of the since Beauxbatons arrived than he had seen some of his Gryffindor dorm mates all seven years gets up, hugs her sister tight before she walks up to Pike, shakes his hand and is sent to a door on the left of the staff table.

“Huh, bet her twin must be feeling pretty shitty,” Jim says, which earns him a curious look from Spock, who’s watching the whole celebrations with a look of cool, detached interest.

“They said they would both be Beauxbatons champions. Guess they were wrong,” Jim adds as an explanation.

Pike goes back to the Goblet of Fire after the noise has quieted down. Another piece of paper shoots up towards the air. “The Durmstrang champion is  Khan Noonien Singh.”

The boy - man actually, because anyone that tall and stocky can’t be categorized as a ‘boy’ - is the one Jim had seen when Durmstrang first arrived at Hogwarts. Jim is happy to notice that he hadn’t seen him in the group that attacked Spock, although the way that he walks, like he’s Merlin’s secret gift to Earth, certainly doesn’t leave Jim feeling very content. 

There’s something about the guy that screams ‘I know more than a hundred ways to kill you in your sleep’ that gives Jim the creeps. It’s probably the long hair. Guys with long hair always look tougher than everyone else.

The handshake he gives Pike is strong enough to make Pike falter, his eyes going comically wide for a second before he smooths his surprise with a smooth grin. He points Khan to the room he’d sent Azealia and goes back to the cup.

“And now, the champion that shall be representing Hogwarts this tournament is...”

Drum rolls echo around the room, everyone stops talking to look at Pike and the air grows thicker and heavier until it feels like honey going down Jim’s throat, too clammy and ghastly. Not a sound can be heard throughout the room and there’s enough tension that even a butter knife could cut it. Jim’s pretty sure his heart skips a couple of beats. Without noticing, he grabs one of Spock’s arm and grips it tight as he waits.

This is it after all. This the moment he’s been waiting for. It’s the moment everyone’s been telling Jim was carved just for him, the one that might change his whole future but most likely will only make the following year one Jim will never forget. This is the moment that decides whether or not Jim as a chance of going down in Hogwarts champion as a Triwizard Champion. This is--

“James T. Kirk!”

The Gryffindor table erupts into ear-deafening cheering, quickly followed by the rest of the student population. Fireworks go off, the ghosts show up again to throw food into the air and Jim has to blink seven times before his brain begins to work again.

“Congratulations, kid!” Bones says, pulling Jim to his feet and giving him a bones-crushing hug.

Spock smiles at him and Sulu goes over the table to give Jim a hug as well. Even Uhura smiles a little as Jim passes by her. Around him hands shoot out thin air to pat his back and congratulate him and Jim just smiles, still dazed and a bit unsure of what’s going on. Jim knows he heard his name coming out of Pike’s mouth, he knows that means he’s Hogwarts’ champion and he knows this is all happening. He’s just having trouble believing it.

“Well done, Jim,” Pike says as he shakes Jim’s hand with a warm smile on his face.

Jim tries to smile as well, but he lacks the proper mental capacity to make his facial muscles move in the right order and ends up making a weird face instead. “Thank you, sir.”

“We have our champions!” Pike shouts and somehow everyone manages to cheer even more loudly than before, Beauxbatons and Durmstrang joining in.

Pike puts a hand on Jim’s shoulder and guides him to the chamber where he sent Khan and Azelia. The Headmasters from the other schools get up to follow them. As he walks, Jim catches Professor Ricino’s eyes, who gives Jim a thumbs up and a proud smile when he sees Jim looking at him.

Jim think he’s about to throw up.

It takes him a couple of deep breathes to get himself in check. Jim has been waiting for this moment for a long time now and he can do this. He can get through the Tournament and he can kick ass in all the tasks and he can win it. Damn right he can.

The room Pike leads him to turns out to be an old portrait room, full of grand paintings of witches and wizards Jim had never seen before, but whose names he can recollect. Old champions from the past. The ones from Hogwarts all smile at him as he walks and Jim stares a little bit at their old school outfits. Oh how the times have changed.

The champions from Beauxbatons give them all sort of smiles, from sultry to shy to genuinely happy for him. The ones from Durmstrang don’t even spare Jim a second glance. It’s all oddly appropriate.

Already in the room with Khan and Azealia is a short man in Ministry robes, spotting a remarkable pencil mustache, grey hair and a big, beer belly. The smile he lets out when he sees Jim is almost blinding.

“Mister James Kirk, I believe.” The man grabs Jim’s right hand with two of his own and shakes it violently before he continues talking, without a single pause for breathing. “I’m Walt Whatley, from the Ministry of Education. Second level in administration business, work mostly in the fourth floor, you might have seen me a couple of times if you’ve ever gone there. Used to work at the Department of Mysteries back in the day before things got too rough. Knew your father, did I. Great man, used to bring me counterfeit magical artefacts all the time. Made some fantastic jokes about pudding. Oh and your mom! Such a wonderful woman, how is she anyway?”

“Great. Mom’s great, just great,” Jim replies awkwardly, fake smile in place. His shoulder joints are beginning to ache from the way Whatley still hasn’t stopped shaking his hand and Jim is not sure where he stands on talking to a man who used to know his father and obviously held him high regard, just like everyone else did apparently because Jim’s father was a saint and a hero and anything else you wish to call him.

Jim feels like he’s suddenly been thrown back into the hopeless grieving stage that’s often accompanied by inexplicable anger, but that would imply he ever got out.

“Oh, that’s wonderful to hear, really is. Did you know-”

“Walt, I believe you were going to speak to the champions about the first task, not your past,” Pike interrupts, calmly and without a hint of anger in his voice. His eyes on the hand are a whole different picture. 

There’s a seriousness in there Jim has only gotten a chance to see a couple of times, once directed at him during a prank war with the Slytherins that went terribly wrong. It’s the kind that can freeze your heart and make the blood in your arteries stop flowing in mere seconds. Jim kind of loves it, despite being terrified of it.

“Oh yes, yes, thank you for reminding me. Everyone gather around--Mayweather have you got the camera?--alright, get closer everyone. We need to get a good shot of the moment!”

Jim goes and stands beside Whatley, Azealia to his side and Khan in front of him. Their respective Headmasters stand behind them.

“The Ministry is very excited about this Tournament, you see? New days are ahead of us, boys--and girls, of course--we’re striving towards the future and we must send a good picture otherwise we’ll give off a bad image and that just won’t do. We’ll bring the magical community together like never before and--”

“Walt,” Pike says, curt and to the point. This time the annoyance in his voice isn’t so well hidden.

“Yes, yes. I’m just letting the champions know that this tournament is important,” Walt says, putting an extra force in every one of his words while his eyes skim through their faces to make sure they’re listening, “and we must send a good picture.”

His eyes end up resting on Jim, who doesn’t need to think about it before he says, “don’t worry. I brushed my teeth.”

Jim isn’t very big on the new changes the Ministry of Magic is making to the system that will, supposedly, make their community stronger, bigger and more powerful than ever and he doesn’t have any qualms telling a Ministry lackey that.

Whatley glares at him but doesn’t say anything before he lets out a perfect, white smile and turns his attention to the group as a whole. “Your first task is on the 9th of November, as you must already know. You’ll be given scores by a group of judges, depending on numerous factors like time, magical ability, how resourceful you are... You know how it is. And, finally, what you’re all here for, here...” He reaches into his pockets and takes out three, tiny boxes painted with gold glitter, “is all the help I can give you.”

“Don’t open them yet! You can only see what’s inside when you’re alone. Obviously, I can’t tell you more than this, since each task is a secret but I will tell you this! Trust yourselves. This task will test your bravery, your courage, but most of all, it will test your inner strength,” Whatley says, contradicting himself in two seconds. “I’m sure you’ll all do well, don’t you worry, you are the champions after all. And now if you don’t mind, we have some reporters here from the Daily Prophet and some others, they’ll need a couple of pictures of you and maybe a teensy interview.”

Jim puts the golden box in his trousers’ pocket, turns around, smiles until his jaws hurt. He talks about himself far more than he’s comfortable with for the next two hours, away from his friends and the party that must still be going in the Great Hall.

The interviews begin with simple, innocent questions but quickly turn into something far bigger and messier. Somebody asks him if he thinks his father would be proud of him now, another if Jim put his name in the Goblet to follow his father’s footsteps, who had also been the Hogwarts champion - and consequently the Triwizard champion, after he won - back in his time.

Whatley hadn’t been kidding when he said the Ministry wanted to send a good image to the entire magical community. Jim’s sure at least twenty different papers are there to talk to them, most of them having no reservations in getting too up and close to get the juiciest details on “Hogwarts’ number one bad boy”.

Jim’s so thankful when Pike decides to call it a night for all of them that he almost falls to his knees to thank him. The number of questions he’s been asked about his dad have reached astronomical proportions and Jim can’t handle having more people ask him things about his mum and his brother like they’re some sort of celebrity family when actually they’re just a dysfunctional, hot mess. He really can’t. 

Jim is also tired as hell, anxious for some fresh air and dead curious to know what the clue for the first task is; the weight of the box in his trousers getting seemingly heavier with each boring, repetitive, intrusive interview he has to go through. 

“Get some rest, son,” Pike says as they walk out of the room into the now completely empty Great Hall.

Jim nods and then turns to leave, smiling only briefly to the other Champions before he bolts. They don’t smile back but Jim doesn’t really care. If they are half as tired as Jim is, which is a whole lot, then it’s to be expected that they’re not in the mood for false niceties. Or they could just be rude arses. Either way, Jim just came out looking like he’s a polite, charming young man, which gives him a couple of points in everyone’s good book, so who cares what’s going on through the others’ heads.

As soon as Jim is alone, he considers taking the box out and opening it right there, on one of the moving staircases between the second floor and the third. Technically, he’s still surrounded by people, although considering they’re all drunk off their asses partying in the Jean Delabordé’s  We Dance ‘Till Sunrise painting, Jim thinks he’s in the clear.

But then again, it’s better to be safe than sorry.

And maybe Jim is a little bit nervous and wants to open the box somewhere safe and private in case he can’t figure out the clue and has a momentary mental breakdown over it. Whatever. Nobody needs to know about that part.

Not five minutes afterwards, Jim goes against his very own train of thought when he gets to the portrait of the Fat Lady and finds Bones and Spock there, leaning against the stone railing while pointedly not talking to each other.

“What are you doing here?” Jim asks.

“Reading poetry to each other and talking about boys. What do you think?” says the sarcastic asshole also known as Leonard ‘Bones’ McCoy.

Jim pulls a face at him and turns to Spock, who says, “we were waiting for you, James.”

“Still with the James? C’mon, Spock. You can do better than that,” Jim complains and then completely invalidates said complaint by smiling like an idiot as he speaks.

“On the contrary, I am only being accurate by calling you by your birth name, James.”

“But my birth name isn’t my actual name--”

“Okay, no. You’re not doing this now after we waited two hours here for you. You can flirt later,” Bones says after interrupting Jim with an overly dramatic sigh and an exaggerated roll of his eyes. “What happened after your name got called? Did they tell you what the first task is?”

Jim doesn’t miss a beat before he begins to retell everything that happened, from Walt Whitley’s creepy insistence on sending out a good image to all the countless interviews he had to go through.

“And what about the box? Have you opened it yet?” Bones says after Jim tells him about Whitley’s advice on ‘trusting himself’.

“Nope.”

“Well what are you waiting for then? Open it now!”

“Patience, young pupil. Everything in its due time,” Jim says with what he hopes is a perfect shit-eating grin since those always drive Bones up the wall.

“Leonard, if you will remember, a Triwizard champion stands on his own. The clue given to James is only for his eyes to see,” Spock adds with hands behind his back, infinite patience dripping from every one of his words.

“Really?” Jim and Bones asks in unison, finding it hard to believe that Spock could be so innocent. The Triwizard Tournament is many things, but a ‘cheating free’ event is definitely not it.

Spock grins is somehow more shit-eating than Jim’s.

“Okay then, time for the real business. Everyone shush.”

Without any further ado, Jim gets the box out of his pocket. Under the burning light of the various torches scattered around the walls, the box’s golden glitter shines even brighter, stray pieces of light catching on individual pieces of glitter to give the impression that the whole box is one gigantic, incredibly layered golden piece.

Jim runs his hands over it reverently. The texture is kind of grainy, but smoother than you’d expected it to be. There are no wrinkles or bumps. Beneath the golden glitter Jim can’t decipher what the box is made of, but it’s light enough to be made out of paper. Jim shakes the box a little to see if anything happens. He hears nothing move inside the box but a couple of specks of glitter come loose.

Looking up to Spock and Bones’ expectant faces makes Jim remember where they are and instead of doing what they’re all waiting for, he says, “wait, we should probably go somewhere more private.”

Bones sighs again and Spock looks a little put off but Jim ignores them both as he gives the Fat Lady their password. She doesn’t even blink an eye to the sight of two Ravenclaws entering the Gryffindor common room well past bed hours, just complains about being woken up so suddenly by them. Jim smiles and promises it won’t happen again.

“Alright, no one’s here,” Jim says after he scans the entire Gryffindor common room.

“Well? Come on then, open it already.”

Jim nods, to himself and to Bones and sets to opening the box. He tries to shove his nails on the box’s ridges, but there’s no space for him to press open. In fact, as far Jim can tell, the box doesn’t have any ridges or space between each side. It’s a solid cube.

“Well shit.”

“Are you serious?” Bones asks at the same time as Spock reaches for the box.

“May I?” he asks and Jim nods in reply, too tired to figure out how to open it himself and scared that the mental breakdown card might be back on the table.

Spock takes the box from Jim’s hands and examines it, turning it around in his hands as he tries to open it with his fingers, a deeply concentrated and slightly puzzled look adorning his face the whole time. After this doesn’t work, Spock takes out his wand and tries a couple of spells.

Shockingly, none of them work either.

“What now?” Jim finally asks. In his head there is already a plan beginning to form where he goes to bed, sleeps for a day and deals with all of this tomorrow. 

Bones takes it from Spock’s hands and gives it his best shot as well since they’re all doing it. All the while, specks of glitter keep falling off the box in enough quantities that if it were any other box, there would now be gaps in its glitter covering. As it is, the magical item remains exactly the same.

Bones decides to throw in a guess. “Maybe it dissolves in water?”

Jim thinks its a long shot, a very long one actually since nothing so far indicated they needed water, but he has nothing. Spock is still in deep concentration thinking the whole thing over, so why not try?

Jim takes the box from Bones and heads for the stairs. His feet remain practically glued to the floor while he walks, as Jim is still exhausted and not in the mood to walk any faster than a tortoise would.

While Jim is crossing the common room, he trips on one of the many red and gold rugs they have scattered across the floor and the box goes flying from his hands. Bones grabs Jim’s shirt in time to save his friend from splattering himself across the floor, but the same can’t be said for the box, which lands in a cloud of gold glitter at the bottom of the stairs.

Jim’s mind immediately goes on overdrive. An enormous quantity of swear words and profanities come alive inside his brain, interrupted only by a couple of short sentences like ‘please don’t be broken’, ‘why me?’ and ‘finally I have proof that the universe hates me’.

When Jim gets to where the box fell, he doesn’t expect to see the box without any golden glitter covering its sides, lying on the floor next to a various assortment of letters made out of said golden glitter, but then again, Jim doesn’t expect many things and they all seem to happen anyway.

“Huh.” Jim says at the same time as Spock hunches down to get a closer look and Bones begins to spell out the letters in a low tone.

“O, S, I, N...”

“I believe they are in a random order.” Spock says. He gets up in a quick, fluid movement, all of his limbs working in perfect accordance to make him look more graceful than anyone Jim knows.

“For us to put together?” Jim asks.

Spock nods as he inspects their common room. Jim’s about to ask what he’s looking for when Spock triumphantly finds a piece of parchment, a quill and a small bottle of ink. He comes back and gives the ink to Bones for him to hold. Bones frowns but doesn’t say anything. Jim smiles.

It only takes Spock a couple of seconds to write down all the letters and then they’re left staring at the glitter on the floor and the box, which appears to be made out of cardboard now that there’s no glitter covering it.

Jim leans down and picks up the box, wondering what he’s supposed to do with all the glitter.

The answer provides itself without needing any encouragement.

As soon as Jim’s fingertips touch the box, the glitter zooms towards it, covering the whole box again until there’s only the slightest trace of glitter on the floor, like the whole thing had never happened.

“Cool...” Jim whispers. He pushes himself off the floor with both of his hands, the joints in his knees aching with the effort. By Merlin’s beard, if Jim is already this tired having only been a Triwizard champion for about three hours, who knows what the rest of tournament will make him feel like.

When Jim’s back at his normal height, he only has to take one look at Bones and Spock examining the parchment with their heads side by side and their fingers tracing the ink to decide that no, they’re not doing this tonight. No way in hell.

Jim takes the parchment from their fingers without asking and heads for the stairs before either of the Ravenclaws can complain. “I’ll see you two, and whoever else wishes to help me with this stupid thing, tomorrow at the library. Goodnight.”

Jim doesn’t wait for their replies, taking two steps at a time until he’s back at his lovely, old dorm room that smells of boy, testosterone and sweat and makes Jim feel right at home every time he’s there.

Despite wanting nothing more than to collapse onto his bed and sleep for the next ten hours, Jim has trouble falling asleep. It’s a good kind of trouble though, one that comes from him remembering every five minutes that he was chosen as the Hogwarts champion and he’s going to be in the tournament and this is all happening, truly, really, absolutely happening. It’s like his heart is no longer pumping blood through his arteries because there’s no need, Jim’s excitement doing its job for it. Jim has always wanted this so bad and he’s finally got it.

And it has nothing to do with his dad, no matter what those dumb reporters might write. Jim wants this for him and that’s it. He wants it because the Triwizard tournament is fun and grand and a definite proof that Jim is not a dumb kid running on his father’s name. He’s not.

\------------//------------

Jim’s woken up by Scotty, which is an honest surprise since Scotty has never woken Jim up before, albeit it’s definitely not a pleasant one.

“Get off me, you Scottish git,” Jim mumbles. He tries to bury his face deeper into his pillow while kicking Scotty off his legs and fails miserably at both. Without any shame or dignity, Scotty steals Jim’s pillow from his defenseless form and throws a muffin at him.

“Everyone’s waiting for ye, Jim. You said you’d be up by now!” Scotty jumps on Jim’s legs a little to help his point, which is that he’s a major pain in the ass.

“I didn’t actually,” Jim says because he distantly recalls not mentioning a specific hour for exactly this reason. Scotty ignores his words like they weren’t even uttered.

“Yesterday we waited for ye for a while, but the liquor got the best of us in the end. Poor Chekov threw up everywhere, you’d think a northern laddie would do better.”

“He’s like, five.”

“He’s fifteen,” Sulu says from the other side of the room. As Jim’s true brother in arms, Sulu is also lying beneath the covers of his bed and trying to sleep, Saturday morning hangover running free. Also like Jim, he too is failing, despite still having a pillow to hide under unlike Jim, who is being forced to face the harsh sunlight without protection.

“Good to know,” Jim says.

“Come along, you pansy arses. It’s almost noon. It’s time to get up.”

Jim grumbles, “no” and decides that Scotty is, without a doubt, the worst human being ever. It’s simply not fair how he can drink his own weight in firewhiskey and feel no repercussions, unlike the rest of them non-Scottish folk, who have to suffer through all kinds of hangovers.

“You didn’t even drink last night, Jimmy. You’re losing your grip,” Scotty says just as Jim finally gives up on trying to sleep and gets up.

“I didn’t drink, but having to go through twenty bullshit interviews about my family and what my dad would think of me was enough to make me wish I did.”

Sulu and Scotty both groan in sympathy. They’ve been Jim’s friends for long enough to know that while Jim’s family is not a taboo topic, it’s certainly one Jim doesn’t want to talk about often, certainly not for two whole hours. It’s also, in Jim’s opinion, not as grand or romantic as most people make it sound like. His dad was a famous auror, he died on the job and left his wife with two kids to raise. That’s it.

Jim takes a long, hot shower to help him wake up peacefully. The warm water loosens muscle knots Jim didn’t even know he had and soothes his mind, running slowly down his body until Jim feels like a brand new man, ready to face the day. 

He puts on his usual attire, a simple white shirt, black trousers and his Gryffindor tie, because Sulu’s big on house pride and he takes it as a personal offence when he sees Jim not wearing it.

“So, is this the infamous gold box?” Scotty asks once Jim’s finished checking himself out in the mirror. He has the box in his hands and is looking at it appreciatively, like an expert carpenter would look at a well-carved wood sculpture.

“Yeah, wanna see it in action?” Jim doesn’t wait for Scotty’s reply, already aware that it’s going to be a ‘yes’.

He takes the box from Scotty’s hands and lets it fall on the floor. Just like it had last night, the gold glitter scatters away while the box is still falling to form the mysterious letters. Scotty’s eyebrows go up two centimetres and Jim chuckles in amusement. He knew Scotty would love this, as the Scotty is a big fan of smart magical objects or, as he calls them, ‘the reason why magic exists!’.

“C’mon, let’s go. I’m starving. Sulu, you coming?”

“No thanks, I’ll join you guys later.”

“Suit yourself.”

Jim and Scotty eat in the Great Hall, Scotty pulling the hobbit card out of his sleeve to eat second breakfast. Throughout their meal, numerous people come up to Jim to congratulate him, some friends he’s made through the years, others perfect strangers. Jim smiles, thanks every single one of them and lets himself bask in the fame while it lasts.

After eating they meet up with Bones and go to library, where they find Spock already working.

“Hey, Spock, have you been here for long?” Jim asks as he sits down in a chair in front of Spock. Bones and Scotty take the other empty chairs. 

They’re in Spock’s usual corner of the library, near the end where most people aren’t brave enough to go. Jim’s actually grown fond of the place over the weeks of researching and working there with Spock on their Astronomy project.

“Not very long, and so far we have not made much progress,” Spock replies while not taking his eyes off the book in front of him.

“‘We’?” Jim asks, just in time for a voice behind him to say.

“That’s my seat, Kirk.”

Jim turns around to see Uhura with two small books in her arms staring at him and waiting for him to move. “You? You’re helping me? Why?”

“Because Spock asked.” She smiles innocently, and then adds, “are you going to make me get another chair?”

“You can take my seat, Nyota,” Bones says, already getting up and smiling like like a fool in love, which what? Just, what?

Jim stares at Bones, then at Uhura, then at Bones again and finally decides this is a problem for another day. What matters now is the box and the glitter letters. Everything else Jim is sure someone will explain to him later.

Uhura smiles at Bones and then gives Spock one of the books she’s carrying with a perfect genuine smile as well, which stings, Jim’s not going to lie. He’s been trying to form some sort of relationship with Uhura since first year. While Jim’s not going to deny that at first it was for more... cheap, romantic reasons, he’s pretty over that by now. 

If Jim also feels a tiny hint of jealousy at the three of them and whatever weird smiley thing they’ve got going on, no one but him is any the wiser.

“So, you don’t have anything yet?” Jim asks, taking a look around the table. There are numerous books laid out next to various pieces of parchment, some of them empty, some of them full of scribbles.

“Oh, we’ve already figured out what the letters spell out, now we’re trying to understand what they mean,” Uhura says with so much fake modesty she could make a run for minister of magic. “ Nolite Confidere Speculis . It’s latin for--”

“Do not trust mirrors,” Jim interrupts, making Uhura and Spock stare at him in surprise. “What? Is it really that shocking that I know latin?”

“A bit, yes.” Uhura replies and, well, Jim can’t fault her for her honesty, even if he is hurt by her - and Spock’s - assumption.

Instead of coming up with a sassy reply, Jim decides to get to work as well without saying anything. Uhura might be helping him just because Spock asked, but she’s helping him nonetheless and Jim isn’t going to ruin it all by acting like a brat.

Speaking of Spock asking Uhura, one of the brightest witches in Hogwarts and without a doubt a valuable aid, for help, Jim should really thank Spock for that later. It was something genuinely nice of Spock to do and something that definitely deserves a ‘thank you’. In fact there are many things Jim needs to thank Spock for; Spock’s general existence being the main one but putting up with Jim, being happy to talk about Jim for space, the stars and whatever else strikes Jim’s fancy for hours and being actually smart and thoughtful are others worthy of being mentioned.

They all stay in the library working well into the afternoon, only leaving for dinner at Jim’s insistence. They’ve made very little progress so far, only coming up with a couple of obscure references to various legends, places and creatures, none of which in any way helpful to Jim.

Regardless, Jim’s not worried. He’s got the best possible people helping him out of their own volition and he knows, sooner or later, they’ll reach an answer.

He’d prefer if it were sooner rather than later, since the first task is in nine days, but there is no such thing as perfection.

The next day they’re joined by Sulu, who stayed in bed all day yesterday and failed to join them, and their research continues. Not that it’s a continuous effort. Oh no, there are many breaks. For food, peeing, throwing papers at each other, Quidditch practice, club meetings, classes when Sunday ends and Monday begins, hanging out with other people, homework, charming Sulu into singing The Hedgehog Song, turning Jim’s hair blue, making Spock glare at all of them for ten minutes straight, etc.

By Friday, two days away from the first task, Jim is slightly nervous about how the little progress they’ve made hasn’t advanced and his hope that everything’s going to be alright is quickly diminishing. His only comfort is the knowledge that the other champions are, as far as he knows from word of mouth, doing as badly as he is.

Jim saw a couple of Beauxbatons girls at the library, picking up books and leaving as quickly as they appeared, although the champion herself and her lovely twin had yet to show up. The same could be said for Khan, who had also sent a couple of Durmstrang boys in the search of books for him but had yet to make his presence known.

Jim’s beginning to think neither of the other champions will show up to do some research when he bumps into Khan, Friday evening. Bump probably isn’t the most appropriate word since Jim actually spots Khan far before he goes up to him.

The library is about to close and the only people still there are a couple of students running behind on their classes and in need of extra revising, Jim, Spock and apparently Khan. Jim is in the search for the book  Become the Next Master of Illusions in 587 Easy Steps when he sees Khan near the Restricted Section, looking around with sharp eyes to see if anyone is watching him before he gets his wand out and enters it.

Now, Jim’s not the library’s biggest fan, but he’s spent enough hours in this part of the castle to know that the only books found in the Restricted Section are ones that contain information on the Dark Arts and other illegal, banned subjects. Meaning that whatever Khan is searching, Jim very much doubts is for the Tournament.

Jim doesn’t need to think twice to know what he has to do next. Taking a quick look around just like Khan had, he moves out from the bookshelf he was hiding behind and follows Khan, closing the gate behind him in case anyone notices it.

He gets his wand out and whispers a low, “ lumos ,” the library’s natural light on that section not enough for Jim to walk around comfortably. Jim walks on the tips of his toes to make the least noise possible.

Khan, on the other hand, sees no reason to be discreet. His shoes’ rubber soles clash loudly with the floor and his own  lumos spell is nearly as bright as the sun, making his presence ridiculously easy to follow. He’s not even trying to go unnoticed, which makes Jim wonder if his behavior is pure arrogance or if he genuinely thinks no one’s going to catch him, and even if they did, he’d still go unscathed. 

Regardless of what Khan might think, he’s wrong.

Jim smiles to himself at that thought. He’s a couple of metres behind Khan, hiding behind bookshelves whenever Khan’s steps falter to examine a particular set of books. He’s definitely looking for something specific, tracing his fingers over various book spines as he reads the titles to himself. 

After about ten minutes of searching, he finally finds what he’s looking for, letting out a big, confident grin before he takes the book out of its shelf, hides it inside his fur coat and turns to leave.

Jim scrambles in panic. He’s in Khan’s direct path to get back to the gate, and while Jim doesn’t have any problems being caught by Khan spying on him, as Jim’s absolutely not afraid of Khan and his big meathead, the reaction to run for survival is instinctive.

In his haste to leave the Restricted Section before Khan, Jim forgets all about being subtle, his shoes making more noise than an avalanche as he runs for the exit. Anyone with a pair of working ears could tell that he was there so when Jim gets out, he decides to not bother pretending he hadn’t just been spying on Khan and prepares himself for a casual confrontation instead.

Khan steps out of the Restricted Section without any rush whatsoever, closing the gate behind him while staring right at Jim without saying a single word. The whole thing is a bit unsettling. He’d expected Khan to be angry, not a yoga expert. 

“So...” Jim starts, still set on a casual confrontation, “you figured out what the clue means yet?” 

It’s not what he really wants to say, but Jim figures it’s a better way to start than straight out jumping into asking Khan if he has an interest in the Dark Arts.

“I am doing well,” Khan replies in a fluent, smooth English accent, which surprises Jim. He thought Khan would have the same rugged, butchered English as all the other foreign students. “You?”

“I figured it out on the first day,” Jim says, which is technically only a half lie. He and his friends did figure out what the clue meant in the first day, they just haven’t understood it and figured out what kind of task Jim is going to face yet.

He and Khan stare at each other for a couple of seconds until Jim decides to say fuck it, being casual is bullshit. “Anyway, what did you take from the Restricted Section?  Morminger’s Infinite List of Death Spells ?  Secrets of the Darkest Art ?  Dragon Blood and its Magical Properties ?”

Khan’s cool facade drops as soon as Jim finishes speaking, his sharp grin turning into an ugly frown as tries to stare Jim down. The effort is actually a valiant one, but Jim is friends with the two contestants for Best Judgemental Frowny Face in the world and Khan’s got nothing on them.

“I took nothing,” Khan hisses. His nostrils flare in the most unattractive way possible and Jim thinks he’d be getting slightly turned on if he were into rugged, beast-like boys. Alas, Khan just looks like a mean bear to him, which makes it easier for Jim to focus on outsmarting him.

“Oh? Then I guess you’re not hiding a book inside your coat, are you?”

“I can assure you, James Kirk, that you are mistaken about whatever you think you might have seen.”

“And I can assure you,  Khan Singh, that my eyesight is in perfect condition.” 

Khan grins, deadly and fearless, making Jim glare at him. Jim has a special dislike for guys who are full of themselves, which probably makes him one of the biggest hypocrites in the world since Jim’s all about boisterous arrogance and in your face confidence. Not that most of it is real. Jim’s simply the sort of guy who acts first and thinks later, which makes him look like a cocky little shit ninety percent of the time.

Khan doesn’t say anything else, giving Jim a little nod before he leaves. Jim considers going after him or letting Mister  Luckinbill, the librarian, know about Khan’s theft, but decides against it in the end. He has no idea what Khan is up to and for all Jim knows, he’s got a note from a teacher that allowed him to take the book. Either way, Jim’s not the sort to snitch on others when he has a problem with someone. He’s more of the sort that takes matters in their own hands, no matter the risk.

“Khan’s up to shit,” Jim says when he goes back to his and Spock’s table.

Spock looks up at Jim but doesn’t say anything, waiting for Jim to continue. “He went into the Restricted Section looking all sneaky and took a book. I confronted him but he didn’t break.”

“What did he take?”

“I dunno, but I think it was from the banned curses bookshelf.” Spock looks away to think and Jim decides to voice what he’s been thinking about since he saw Khan, “do you think it has anything to do with the first task?”

“Doubtful. The information in the Restricted Section is there for good reasons. All of the spells, charms and potions in those books are either from the Dark Arts or too dangerous and impractical to put to any decent use. He would not find it anything there that would be of any real help.”

“Well he did take something useful, maybe not for the tournament but for something else and he looked happy as fuck too when he found it. Anyway, did you find anything useful while I was away?” Jim asks, like he’s done so many times for the past previous days every time he left the study group for whatever reason.

Also like he’s done so many times for the past previous days, Spock sighs, fatigued and frustrated about not being able to find any answers. Jim’s sure the only reason he’s not freaking out, disappointed and worried about their failure to find anything useful on the clue is because Spock’s doing all of that for him.

“Hey, c’mon, don’t worry about it. Everything will be fine.” Probably. “We’ve been here all day, let’s go grab dinner and head to bed.”

“But we must--”

“No, no, no. In any case, I must do something, but I’m not going to because this is obviously worthless. Instead of wasting more of our time here, what do you say we invite everyone to spend a day by the lake tomorrow?”

Spock gives Jim a completely deadpanned look, stops to think something over and finally says. “It’s November, James.”

“So? I know an awesome heating charm. Come on, it will be fun!”

Reluctantly and with a look on his face that resembles great, terrible pain, Spock agrees. Jim pumps the air in triumph and begins to quickly pack all his books in his backpack, anxious to get to the Great Hall so he can tell everyone about whatever sneaky shit Khan is up to and their new plans for tomorrow. Jim knows that if he’s got Spock in the bag, it’s also a ‘yes’ from everyone else.

Jim trots - actually trots, with zero shame - to where the food is. Maybe he’s in a happy mood because he’s spending tomorrow fooling around with his friends by the lake, maybe he’s entered a catatonic, zen phase where nothing stresses or worries him, caused by the knowledge that he might be getting his ass kicked to the ground Sunday during the first task. Either way, Jim’s happy and he’s trotting and Spock’s looking horribly embarrassed and honestly, that’s all that matters.

Dinner goes well, as all things with delicious food go. Everyone agrees to a trip to the lake, including Sulu, who agrees to cancel Quidditch practice after twenty minutes of begging on Jim’s behalf, and Uhura, who agrees once Bones asks her to come, reminding Jim that he really has to catch up on all these new relationships that seem to be flying right by him, something Jim cannot allow.

The best thing about teenage relationships is being able to mock your friends for them, tell them to get a room every time they act lovey dovey and generally act like a nuisance while being the most supportive, mother hen they could ever ask for.

Jim makes a mental note to pull Bones aside and ask him what’s up tomorrow. He then forgets all about it come Saturday, when he learns that Spock can’t swim. Neither can Scotty, but Scotty is stubborn, Scottish and a mean old spirit that knows far too many of Jim’s secrets through nights of lonely drinking for Jim to do anything about his non-existent swimming skills.

Spock, on the other hand, is fresh meat and totally in the path for a swimming lesson with the best instructor in the world. Or, in Bones’ words, on a one way trip to becoming best friends with the Giant Squid at the bottom of the lake.

“He’s joking, Spock! I promise! I won’t let you drown,” Jim says and for some mysterious reason it works. Spock agrees to go in the lake with Jim by his side.

Regardless of what they agreed to, Spock doesn’t let himself be pulled into the water by Jim’s careful hands until everyone else is out, which means Jim is already a bit tired by the time Spock dips his feet in. Nevertheless, he promised Spock he’d teach him how to swim and that’s what he’s going to do.

They start by walking around in the water until Spock feels comfortable, going as far as shoulders deep. All the while Jim is standing right in front of Spock, ready to grab him and pull him up in case anything happens. Not that this is necessary since it’s Spock and there seems to be very little Spock can’t do once he puts his mind to it.

“Yes, that’s right, you’re doing great,” Jim says anyway, a warm smile on his face as he watches Spock paddle across the water easily. He has no idea what the earlier fuss was about. Spock is a natural swimmer, body moving elegantly as he glides across the water. “Do you wanna try swimming in the deep end?”

An hesitant look crosses Spock’s face. Jim tones down his smile a bit. “Hey, it’s alright if you don’t wanna do it. We can just keep doing laps here.”

“No, there is no need. I can do it, just...”

Jim takes a step closer. “Don’t worry. I’m not going anywhere.”

Spock relaxes and even flashes Jim the barest hint of a smile. They walk until they are shoulders deep in the water again and with a deep breath, Spock takes his feet from the earth and begins to swim freely with Jim by his side, hands hovering the whole time in case Spock needs his help.

Jim's about to suggest they try a race when Bones calls him.

"Hey, Jim, let's play Bomgard's Tail. Sulu said he and Chekov could win against us three to zero.” 

"Three to zero? As if," Jim turns to Spock. "Do you wanna play too? Bones and I are top, so you would have to join Sulu and Chekov and save them from the catastrophic defeat they’re about to suffer."

"Thank you, but I am not familiar with the game and I would prefer to keep swimming."

"You sure? Maybe you should get a bit closer to shore then," Jim says. He doesn't want to sound overbearing, but a novice swimmer, regardless of how apt they might be, is still a novice swimmer. Add that to the fact that they’re swimming in the Black Lake and Jim would really appreciate it if Spock swam closer to shore while he’s alone.

“I will be alright, James.”

Jim wants to contest, but Bones chooses that exact opportunity to call him again while Sulu shouts, “Three to zero,” at him, as if he actually stands a chance against Team Awesome. He gives Spock a firm nod that he hopes says ‘I trust you’ and swims towards his friends so they can start an epic battle of Bomgart’s Tail.

As per tradition, ten minutes are wasted discussing the rules of the game since every family in Britain seems to play their own version of Bomgard’s Tail and it’s always best to get those annoying little details first. Jim tries to keep an eye on Spock, but after Sulu says they’re allowed to make sand golems who can use algae as whips, his attention shifts entirely into telling his friend to fuck off.

The game itself also requires all of Jim’s attention. Many things are needed to ensure victory in Bomgard’s Tail, such as strategic and critical thinking, magical prowness, quick reflexes, an ability to think on your feet, courage, resourcefulness and good stamina. Knowing the rules well enough so you know which to bend in your favour is also crucial, but frankly it’s far more important to be able to cast spells and run at the same time.

They’re twenty minutes in the game, tied one to one, when they decide to take a break. Sulu, Chekov and Bones all go sit by Uhura’s side beneath the oak tree, but Jim turns to the lake without a second thought. 

He’s walking into the water, not thinking about anything in particular as he lazily searches for Spock, when it hits him with the force of an hippogriff kick that the reason why he hasn’t seen Spock yet is because he isn’t there.

“No,” Jim whispers and then he’s running, wand out of his back pocket and in his right hand immediately. He opens a path for himself by pushing the water away from him, but not even that allows him to go as quickly as he’d like. His eyes are focused on trying to discern any types of movement in the water, but Jim sees nothing and that’s what scares him the most.

“Spock!” he calls, just once, before he takes a deep breath and dives underwater.

The water in the Black Lake is as dirty as a gnome’s nest and a lumos spell isn’t of much help in guiding Jim through the seaweed. He swims as fast as he can, head turning from side to side as he searches every corner of his vision for Spock. 

He is about to go back to the surface for another lungful of air when he spots him. He’s struggling against the seaweed, arms fighting the green leaves in slow, tired movements that tell Jim he doesn’t have much time left.

Pointing his wand back, Jim says, “ depulso ,” and refuses to close his eyes as he’s propelled towards Spock. 

A look of panic crosses Spock’s face when he sees a figure speeding towards him, but it shifts into weary relief when he realizes it’s Jim. A last group of lonely air bubbles float out of his mouth, his eyes drift closed and Jim can’t get there quickly enough.

He grips Spock tight and casts another  depulso that has them plummeting towards the surface.

The first thing he hears is the sound of his ears popping, like someone’s just blown fireworks inside his head. The second is Spock coughing violently as if there’s a snake in his lungs.

“It’s ok, Spock, you’re ok. Just breathe. I’ve got you, I promise. Just breathe.”

Spock clutches to him with the force of a bear desperate for contact, which makes it difficult for Jim to keep them afloat with just his legs kicking. He does it anyway, hands moving in circles across Spock’s back until the coughing stops and Spock can breathe properly again.

“I’m sorry, I’m so fucking sorry,” Jim says. His hands are a heavy weight on Spock’s waist, not a single care about Spock’s personal space currently present.

“Don’t be,” Spock interrupts with a voice so scratched and coarse it sends shivers down Jim’s spine. “It was my fault. I swam too far.”

For the second time that day, Jim wants to contest Spock’s words because he promised Spock he would keep him safe. He promised him he wouldn’t let him drown and now look at what he did. Another minute and Spock would have been dead, pale body motionless against the bottom of the Black Lake.

“You saved me.”

“I almost let you drown,” Jim whispers, too frantic, too desperate. 

“I am alive. That is what matters.”

Jim hugs Spock tighter and doesn’t let go for a good minute. Slowly, he pulls them both closer to shore until they both can touch the earth.

“Wait, you need to swim again,” Jim says when they’re almost outside the water. Spock looks at him as if he’s mad .So do all of their friends except for Bones from their location a couple of metres away. “If you don’t swim now, you won’t be able to do it again later. You gotta face your fears before they form.”

Spock keeps staring at him like he’s mad, but eventually he relents and they spend the next ten minutes swimming side by side with the earth only a solid metre beneath them. When they get back to shore, nobody comments on how they both still look shaken and scared, something Jim thinks he and Spock both appreciate.

Eventually, they’re both able to momentarily forget what happened and enjoy the rest of their day.

Time flows by them quickly enough and not before long they’re all back at the castle, ready to call it a night. That day many heating charms are cast, many laughs are had and many tumbles in the mud ensure that everyone needs a good, long shower before they go to bed. Scotty brings a couple of his famous, homebred drinks, Bones and Uhura flirt a lot, Sulu and Chekov also flirt a lot, albeit far more subtly, and most importantly, Spock learns how to swim and Jim doesn’t let him drown, although this is such a close shot that Jim will be feeling guilty for the rest of his live.

Not once does Jim think about the tournament and possibly this is a good thing, but most likely it’s a bad one because the first task of the Triwizard Tournament will be held Sunday morning and Jim has no idea what he should expect from it, just that he can’t trust mirrors.


	4. Mirrors, Mirrors and Mirrors: Gates to Another Dimension Or Definite Proof That You Are An Ugly Bugger?

Sunday morning, one of the younger kids tells Jim that the first task is being held in the Quidditch pitch literally the second Jim steps into the common room. Jim thanks him for the information and then spends the next hour wondering what could be so bloody and massive that they needed the whole Quidditch pitch to contain it.

Jim comes up with several possible answers. None of them are good.

Bones and Sulu meet him for breakfast as per usual, joined by Scotty, Uhura and Chekov. Basically, all of Jim’s friends and the people who have been helping him prepare for the first task are there with the exception of Spock. Jim silently wonders what might be keeping Spock from joining them, but then the tournament comes up and his stomach begins to do these crazy, uncomfortable twists that leave Jim with little capacity to think about anything else.

Everyone is unbelievably encouraging and reassuring, from the people eating breakfast with Jim to fellow Hogwarts students that he’s never met before in his life. All of their words combined make Jim entertain the thought that maybe, just maybe, everything is going to be alright. After all, he did get picked to be the Hogwarts champion by the Goblet of Fire, one of the world’s finest magical artefacts.

All of this confidence goes ‘poof’ when Jim reaches the Quidditch stands and is forced to part from his friends to go the special champions-only area, which is actually the entrance gate for the Quidditch teams and a room Jim’s been in a good few hundred times now. 

However, someone has revamped the place and made it look far fancier than it was before. Banners from each school have been placed across various walls and pictures of previous tournaments, as well as a couple of random pictures of the Ministry of Magic, have replaced the old, dusty shields that usually occupy the wooden walls. The whole thing looks slightly creepy in Jim’s opinion and not the least bit cozy. It’s one thing to have your movements watched by a bunch of sarcastic, old paintings that couldn’t care less about what you’re up to; it’s another to have the life sized, moving impression of the Minister of Magic glaring at you.

Jim wishes he could say the other champions feel the same, but he can’t since he’s very much alone. In fact, Jim’s been alone for the past twenty minutes and seriously, is no one going to talk to him?

Only one person has come to see him since he was sent there, a Ministry errand boy with a terrible case of bad skin and red hair, who gave Jim a light blue, sparkly potion to “help avoid aberrant mishappens” and left before Jim got the chance to ask what the hell ‘aberrant mishappens’ was supposed to mean.

Jim is pacing back and forth around the room and thinking about giving someone a piece of his mind on the entire ‘putting him up away from everyone without letting him know what’s going on’ thing when an old man with a long, grey beard and messy grey hair sneaks into the room wearing Ministry robes.

Jim’s about to ask what’s going on when the old man takes his wand out, presses it against his cheek and then slowly begins to pull away. His beard, his hair and his clothes all fuse into the tip of his wand and are dragged away in a morph of colours until they disappear. The whole thing happens quite quickly, remarkably impressive despite looking wildly uncomfortable, and it doesn’t take long for Jim to realize that the old man is actually Spock, wearing his normal, Hogwarts outfit beneath it all.

“Transfiguration has many practical uses,” Spock says, slightly out of breath, in response to the inquisitive look on Jim’s face, which doesn’t answer any of Jim’s questions.

Regardless, Jim allows it as the only explanation Spock needs to give him since it looked super cool and he’ll have plenty of time to ask Spock about it later. For now, the more important question.

“What are you doing here?”

Spock pauses, probably a bit shocked by the abruptness of the question, but doesn’t waste any time getting back in his groove. “I came to wish you good luck.”

“Oh,” Jim says and does not add that he didn’t think Spock would show up after he skipped out on breakfast with Jim and the others, since Jim is not an eleven-year-old little boy with a crush. “Thank you. For everything, not just helping me with the clue but just - everything.”

Spock lets out a calm, warm, genuine smile, one that Jim hasn’t gotten the chance to see many times before, if he’s sure he’s even seen it at all. “You’re welcome, Jim.”

Jim’s ensuing smile is just as bright as Spock’s.

Deciding to get back on track so his grin doesn’t threaten to break his face, Jim asks, “How are things outside? Have they put anything out yet?”

Before Spock gets a chance to answer, Whatley comes in, followed by four hollow-eyed reporters.

“What are you--” Whatley begins to ask while he eyes Spock in confusion. Said confusion disappears in a blink of an eye after he shakes his head and turns to to face Jim, “No matter. Are you ready? Barnaby gave you the potion, right?”

“Barnaby? The kid with acne? Yeah, he gave me a potion about ten minutes ago.”

“Wonderful!” Whatley proclaims, clapping his hands in excitement.

“Everything’s ready. Let’s just take a quick photography for the morning paper...” Whatley comes up to Jim, puts a long arm around Jim’s shoulder and squeezes tight as he gives the cameras a vapid, toxic smile. Jim limits himself to smiling nervously and wondering what’s going on. “And we’re ready to start!”

“...Great?”

Whatley nods and claps Jim on the shoulder with enough strength to make Jim stumble for a second before he straightens up again.

Jim is not big on throwing around wild accusations, but either Whatley is under the influence of some serious drugs or the task has just given him the best orgasm of his life because this kind of excitement is not normal. Jim should know, he’s had a boner for Astrology for as long as he can remember and he’s well aware of when ‘too much’ turns into ‘what is even happening’, which is the stage Whatley is currently in.

“It’s almost time. Just go stand here,” Whatley leads Jim to the Quidditch pitch entrance, currently shut with thick, heavy curtains so Jim can’t see what’s going on outside, “and wait for the cannon shot before you step outside.”

“Cannon shot? What cannon shot?”

As soon as Jim finishes talking, a loud bang can be heard resonating through the entire pitch,  powerful enough to make the walls around Jim shake.

“This one,” Whatley says before he pushes Jim outside.

As he staggers forward, Jim takes one last look at Spock to see him mouth, “don’t trust mirrors” for a last time. He also flashes Jim a worried, shaky smile that is still somehow reassuring and confident and says more than words could.

After smiling back, Jim turns around to face the Quidditch pitch. The last thing he sees is a whole lot of green grass before a deafening harpy-like pitch cuts his hearing and everything around him goes blinding white.

\------------//------------

Jim wakes up to the smell of sickness.

It’s a very distinct smell, one that seems to follow healers and people who’ve been sick for a very long time. Bones sometimes smells like it when his kiddies’ shift at the hospital wing runs overtime.

It’s a smell that can also be found in toxic quantities, and most likely originate from hospitals.

In other words, it’s the smell of Hogwarts’ Hospital Wing.

“Oh dear, goodness you’re awake.”

Jim blinks his eyes open to see a messy blur of colours in front of him. Slowly, the colours begin to form shapes until Jim can make out the outline of Madam Alencar, the school’s head nurse in charge. Jim tries to ask her what is going on, but his throat is too dry and all that comes out instead is a coughy, low groan. Madam Alencar wordlessly conjures a glass of water and gives it to him.

“You were out for such a long time, dear. I was beginning to worry that you wouldn’t wake up.”

Jim licks his lips to get some moisture on them. “How long?” 

He’s not sure what the hell is going on, but Jim’s never slow on the uptake and a couple of the main pieces of what’s going on have already fallen into their places inside his head. Nevertheless, there are still a million questions buzzing in his mind, ranging from ‘how’ to ‘what the bloody hell has happened’. How long he’s been out is as good a place as any to start.

“Two months. It’s now January the 14th.” Jim feels his eyes bug out before the words actually settle in his mind. Madam Alencar puts a warm hand on Jim’s shoulder, but backs away after a couple of seconds of tense silence on Jim’s behalf.

Two months? “How?”

“There was a terrible accident. The Triwizard Tournament has been canceled and the other schools have left. No deaths, thank goodness, but for a moment we thought we had lost you.”

Madam Alencar looks so desolate as she speaks, almost like she places all the blame for Jim possibly not waking up on herself that Jim feels compelled to say, “I’m sorry?”

“It’s alright, dear,” she says with a watery smile. “Just get some rest now. I’ll let your friends know you’re awake.”

Jim wants to protest, there are still too many things that he needs to know, but his body seems to have other plans. His eyes close by themselves, trapping Jim in perfect, overwhelming darkness. Soon after that, the heavy weight of all of his limbs doesn’t waste a breath dragging Jim down into deep sleep.

The second time Jim wakes up, Bones and his trademark grumpy face are sitting at his bedside.

“Hey...” Jim rasps out, voice still rough from being left unused for such a long time.

“Jim.” Bones sighs, immediately getting up to get his friend a glass of water and to give him a strong, quick hug. The grumpy face is already gone, washed away by a cold bath of pure relief, although Jim doesn’t doubt it will come back soon.

“How are you doing, old man?” Jim asks, smiling despite his face’s strongest wishes that he just lies still forever. Every bit of him aches with an old sort of pain, the kind that was caused a long time ago and stubbornly refuses to go away even after you’re fully healed.

Bones shakes his head and falls back on his chair, smiling as he says, “you’re such an asshole.”

“Hey, c’mon. Didn’t think you’d really lost me, did you? You should know better, Bones. I’m a tough nail to get rid of.”

Bones laughs, tired and slightly hysterical but happy; incredibly, overwhelmingly happy to see Jim awake and talking, like no time has passed since they last saw each other on the day of the first task. “What has Alencar told you about what happened?” he asks.

“Nothing. Just that there was an accident.” 

“Yeah, huge mess. The Ministry hasn’t told us what happened yet and I don’t think they will anytime soon either.”

Jim’s not surprised. With all the talk of creating a new age for the magical community, better and stronger than all the others, it comes as no shock to learn that a failure in the Ministry’s perfect, little tournament is like a sick burn on their greasy, lie-infested skin. 

“But did you not see anything?” Jim asks.

“Just light. Lots of light, and then you were on the ground, bleeding from everywhere and before we know it the tournament is cancelled, the other schools are sent home and Mr. Whatley tells us to ‘put this whole thing behind us’, like you almost getting killed for no apparent reason is no big deal.” Bones scoffs, which makes Jim chuckle and wonder if something else happened between him and Whatley.

“When are they letting me out?” he asks, wanting to move the subject for now. Talking about the tournament gives him a headache for some reason and Jim’s body is not up to the trouble.

“This week, I think. You should have woken up about a month ago. We got your injuries stabilized and healed pretty quickly. Dunno what took you so long, to be honest.”

“Oh, I’m sorry. Did you heal in just one day after being attacked by an extremely violent burst of light? Jeez, I just wish I could compare.” Jim’s sarcastic tone gets a laugh out of a Bones, who ruffles Jim’s hair roughly while Jim tries to fend for himself and fails pathetically. Goddamn his weak muscles. Getting back on a broom for Quidditch will be death.

How is the Quidditch team doing, anyway?

The question sets Bones off on a long rant about everything that’s happened since the first task. Apparently the other schools had not been happy to hear that the tournament was cancelled and they both tried to pull a big fuss, saying just because Jim was injured didn’t mean they had to stop the whole event. Nonetheless, Whatley, who is apparently the Ministry of Education’s official representative for the tournament, was adamant that they had to cancel everything, as competing without one of the champions because of such a shameful accident just could not be done under any sort of good grace.

Throughout the conversation Jim learns little else about the accident, Bones’ words on not being told anything by the Ministry ringing true.

At Hogwarts the opinions on whether or not to continue the tournament varied widely, with some people saying the Goblet should just pick another champion and others asking why the stupid thing wasn’t cancelled already. Jim had a suspicion that Bones’ opinion, and probably Spock’s, were the latter.

Regardless, there weren’t many complaints when the Ministry made the decision. Life quickly went back to normal, or as normal as it could get without James T. Kirk there to make everyone’s hearts a little bit warmer. 

Classes continued, the sun kept rising every morning and Christmas came and went too slowly without Jim there to keep Bones’ company. Spock kept working on their Astronomy project and took two sets of notes of everything for Jim. Scotty stopped making booze, saying it just wasn’t the same without Jim there to drink it with him. Sulu was forced to get another Chaser for the Gryffindor Quidditch team until Jim got back and was, Bones’ choice of words, as miserable as that blue whale who sings in another frequency as the other whales and has no choice but to live a lonely, sad life until it dies.

Overall life moved on, but Jim’s friends didn’t and Jim doesn’t know what to say to that, just knows that he’s selfish enough to feel warm all over at knowing his friends didn’t give up on him.

Jim and Bones talk until the sun has set and Jim’s eyelids feel too heavy for him to keep them open. Bones gives Jim another crushing hug and whispers, “get some rest, kid,” before he leaves, slowly and reluctantly, happy to see Jim finally awake but not happy about having to leave.

The next morning is a busy one, filled with more people stopping by to check up on Jim after the news gets around that he’s awake and doing well. Jim gets more flowers than he knows what to do with, most of them enchanted to smell overly sweet. He ends up putting most of them away when everyone’s left.

After that life goes back to normal or, at least, it tries to.

Jim can’t, for the life of him, pinpoint what’s wrong after he goes back to classes but he just knows - something’s off.

For a while he thinks it’s the tournament. Not having the Beauxbatons girls and the Durmstrang boys around, knowing that he’ll never get another chance to win the event of a lifetime. It’s all a huge disappointment, but more than that it’s depressing as hell. Jim’s been waiting for a chance to participate in the Triwizard tournament for the longest time and now he feels like the rug has been pulled from under his feet without warning, knocking him back against harsh reality.

Nevertheless, it’s still a fact of life. As Spock told him the first he and Jim saw each other after Jim woke up, regret is illogical. There’s little Jim can do now and it’d be silly and childish of him to fixate on a school event. Soon the N.E.W.Ts will be at his doorstep and Jim is not landing a job as an Auror if he stops working to obsess over the past.

With all that in mind, Jim puts it all behind him and focuses on the present, which works for most of the time, except when it doesn’t.

Something just feels wrong. The way everything happened so suddenly and without explanation, why the Ministry isn’t telling them the whole truth or even part of the truth, the way everyone but Jim seems to have moved on already.

Jim knows something is up, he just doesn’t know precisely what to be able to tell other people about it. All he truly knows is that ever since he woke up there has been an unpleasant taste in his mouth, left by the knowledge that something is off.

“But do you not feel it?” Jim asks Bones as they work together on their Potions assignment in the Great Hall. A month has passed since Jim woke up and so far he and Bones have had several conversations along these lines, although this is the first time Jim’s been so upfront. Until then, all of their conversations had been vague and quickly dismissed.

This one seems to be heading the same way if the way Bones sighs dejectedly and puts down his quill is any indication. Bones lifts his eyes from the parchment in front of him without any rush, looking at Jim with tired eyes as he asks, “Feel what, Jim?”

“Everything! There’s just--there’s something wrong. Why hasn’t the Ministry told us what happened? How come literally no one saw anything? Why hasn’t Pike talked to us?”

“Jim, nothing is wrong, you’re just--”

“And why don’t you care?” Jim shouts in a burst of anger, raising the attention of everyone around them and earning him a couple of angry shushes. Jim slumps his shoulders in hopeless resignation at the look on Bones’ face, his next words only a little bit louder than a whisper, “Why does no one care?”

Bones doesn’t say anything and maybe that’s a good thing, because Jim’s not in the mood to listen to him say, for the hundredth time, that nothing’s wrong.

“I’m going for a walk,” Jim says after a couple of seconds in silence.

He packs most of his things into his backpack before he throws it across his shoulder and leaves, eyes downcast the entire time. Around him, Jim can practically feel people’s gazes boring into him, curious and intrusive, wanting to know what’s going on inside his head and whether or not he’s going mad. They’re all watching him, happy and content with their little lives as Jim feels like he’s breaking at the seams.

Jim walks around aimlessly for a good part of his afternoon, until the cold begins to settle in his bones and he regrets not having brought his scarf with him. The snow falling around him and making Jim shiver with pre-hypothermia certainly doesn’t help him keep any semblance of morose dignity, but it’s not like it matters. There’s no one there to watch Jim be moody and stoic on his own, which is a shame. Jim’s moody face is award-winning.

Jim’s on his way to the secret passage behind a portrait of Mustrum Ridcully, Archchancellor of the Unseen University, near the end of the Clock Tower Courtyard when he bumps into Spock, who is going the same way.

“Oh, hey,” Jim says, waving a little and smiling awkwardly. At the moment, things between Jim and Spock are exactly like things between Jim and everyone else: weird.

After Spock had given Jim all the notes he’d been taking on Jim’s behalf, they went back to how they used to be before the tournament, talking occasionally during and between classes but mostly focusing on work. They still spent at least one night a week together working on their Astronomy project, but Jim felt like it wasn’t the same anymore. Despite Spock’s obvious disregard for the tournament, it has now become evident that a big part of their friendship was kindled by it and that without it, finding reasons to be together is far harder than it should be.

Well, it feels that way to Jim. At this point, with everyone being so normal and calm about everything while Jim wastes hours on trying to figure out what feels wrong, Jim’s not sure if the whole thing is real or if he’s just making up stuff in his head.

Madam Alencar had mentioned something like it while he was still in the Hospital Wing. PTSD - Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, caused by whatever happened to him. At first, Jim had dismissed the whole idea. He did not even know what actually happened to him, so being afraid of it sounded extremely far-fetched. Now, though, the not knowing almost haunts him but it’s the uncertainty that’s the worst. 

“Rowing Brown,” Spock tells the portrait of the stocky, old man, who gives Spock a firm nod before unlocking the passage for them. Once they’re both inside and the portrait entrance has closed behind them, leaving them in a small, badly lit corridor, Spock turns to Jim and says, “Hello, James.” 

“Why do you keep doing that and not just call me Jim? You’ve already done it before.”

Spock pauses and tilts his head to the side in confusion. “I have never called you that,” he says, eyeing Jim curiously like Jim’s just grown an extra head.

“Yes. You have,” Jim says, slowly and with too much unnecessary punctuation between each word for added stress on the fact that Jim is not going crazy. 

Spock shakes his head while still staring at Jim like Jim’s the weird one, which snaps into pieces the only part of Jim that was still sane because this can’t be happening, not this too. Jim saw Spock that day, he heard Spock call him ‘Jim’ for the first time and while he may not remember much of what happened next, he sure as hell hasn’t forgotten something as big as that.

“But don’t you remember? The first task, the stupid clue we spent hours researching. ‘Don’t trust mirrors’. Don’t you remember telling me that after the cannon shot?” Jim asks, desperation trampling his voice like a swarm of poisonous insects.

Spock stutters on an answer, looking terribly unsure and uncomfortable by Jim’s behavior before he finally settles into his usual, know-it-all expression and says, “I haven’t forgotten anything.”

“But then how come you don’t remember calling me Jim?” Jim shouts, tears threatening to spill from his eyes in pure anger from the madness of this whole thing. 

Jim begins to pace around the corridor, waving his arms wildly as he speaks mostly to himself like a crazy, old man.

“Don’t trust mirrors, you said--” Jim whirls around, ready to confront Spock again when he sees a mirror, on a wall right next to them, golden frame holding it in place. “Don’t trust mirrors...” Jim whispers, stepping closer to the reflective surface to make sure what he’s seeing is right because the person on the other side of the reflection is not him. It can’t be.

Well, it’s Jim alright. Gryffindor tie, wet robes and too tight trousers combined with his trademark blond hair, now wet from the snow, and his embarrassingly red cheeks, tinged that way by the cold still residing in his fingers and toes and by his frustration. There’s no mistaking that it’s Jim, except that it isn’t.

There’s something in Jim’s reflection that isn’t right and Jim can’t quite put his finger on it until he finally sees it, right there in front of him, subtle yet incredibly distinguishing. After noticing it, there are no doubts left. The person staring back at Jim is not him.

“My eyes. My eyes aren’t green, they’re blue,” Jim murmurs, pulling down his cheeks with his fingers to get a closer look and make sure that he isn’t mistaken. The person in front of him has green eyes. Jim’s have been blue his entire life. 

Jim turns on Spock, squinting in concentration as he tries to make sense of what’s happening. “That’s not me and you’re... you’re not Spock, are you? And this isn’t real. None of this can be real.”

“James, I do not--”

“Jim. The day of the first task you called me Jim. You came to see me and to wish me good luck. Your last words to me were ‘don’t trust mirrors’ and I don’t believe, not for a second, that you do not remember saying that because that would make no goddamn sense, Spock,” Jim bites out, annoyed, disconcerted and more than ready to punch someone.

Spock looks truly befuddled by Jim’s words, which serves as another confirmation that this is all some sort of extremely elaborate, bullshit prank. Spock’s never confused. Mystified? Maybe. Fascinated? All the time. Somewhat baffled? Occasionally, but not ever, not once since Jim’s known him--and while that might not be a long time it sure feels like it--has Spock been truly confused and he’s certainly never forgotten saying something.

And then it hits Jim, the pieces finally slotting together like they’ve been dying to.

This is the task, it has to be. All of this is part of the stupid thing, which is why nothing seems right while not seeming wrong either. Magic can never create perfect replicas, only well-crafted forgeries, which means that the tournament isn’t over and Jim hasn’t lost. He hasn’t even finished yet.

The realization feels like a bucket of cold, refreshing water being emptied over Jim’s poor, overworked brain.

Without waiting to hear anything else from Fake Spock, Jim turns around and heads for the Quidditch pitch, at first walking but picking up the pace not long after he’s left the castle.

Once he reaches the grass fields, Jim almost flies through the air. He lets the wind whip his skin as he slashes through it, his feet barely hitting the ground. He has no idea what he’s going to do yet, just that he’s getting the hell out of whatever weird reality he’s in and he’s getting out now.

When he gets to the Quidditch pitch, thankfully empty, Jim doesn’t bother to stop running until he’s in the middle of the field and looking at the empty stands with something akin to vengeful murder in his eyes. His wand is in his right hand, knuckles already turned white from the way Jim’s holding it like his life depends on it. A hundred different spells and enchantments speed by behind his eyes, from your basic levitation charm to the more complex time-stopping spell.

None of them fit though, none of them are meant to do what Jim wants. Whatever that is precisely, Jim is not one hundred percent sure. All he knows is that it has to be big and meaningful so that someone, somewhere, notices him, notices his rage, decides to do the smart thing and brings Jim back.

After inspecting his vast mental collections of spells, Jim comes to the conclusion that the best thing to do is take the need to do something big and meaningful to a literal sense. “ Accersendum Tonitrua !” he shouts, wand pointing towards the sky.

A bolt of too-bright light shoots from the tip of his wand, branching off in multiple directions as it goes up in the direction of the clouds until it finally touches the first wisp of watery smoke and breaks off in a clash of blazing light.

Jim keeps his eyes fixated on the sky as he watches the first clouds darken. It takes no time for all of them to change into different shades of dark purple and black, until the sky above the Quidditch pitch is nothing but an angry messy of dangerous thunderheads. The first crash of light against the ground falls a couple of metres to Jim’s left with the promise of more to come. Jim doesn’t even blink an eye.

He’s not scared. He knows that he can feel pain, but Jim’s so far lost in the thought of getting out that the idea of getting hit by thunder sounds almost appealing if it comes with a chance to leave this place.

It’s not that whatever world or reality Jim’s in is so wrong and repulsive that he just has to leave. It’s the thought that it’s not his world, it’s the confirmation that the people he’s been talking to for more than a month are not his friends, it’s the realization that all of it is fake. It’s knowing that this is not where he belongs.

Another bolt of light crashes onto the ground, this time next to the stands. However, unlike the previous bolt, the light from this one doesn’t dissipate after its hit the earth. Instead it grows bigger and brighter, eating the world around it until everything is pure, white light, exactly like it had been on the day of the first task.

It is only then that Jim is sure: he’s going home.

\------------//------------

Jim falls onto the ground with a loud ‘thud’.

His ears take a couple of seconds to stop ringing insufferably, only to have the deafening high pitch that accompanied the bright light substituted by the brain-crushing sound of two thousand people screaming and cheering at the top of their lungs.

Jim takes his time on the ground getting his breath back in check and admiring the dirt before he pushes himself into sitting position, only doing so when he’s sure that his face is no longer a perfect portrayal of crazy, uncontrolled, vicious rage. Just like Jim expected, a quick look at the space around him after he sits up reassures Jim that he’s back at his reality’s Quidditch pitch, where it’s most likely still the day of the first task.

A spark of annoyance ignites in Jim at the thought that everyone but him—and the other champions, if their test was the same as Jim’s—knew the mess he was getting into, maybe even watched his worst moments in the other reality.

Jim tries his best to ignore his frivolous irritation. It isn’t like anyone forced him to participate in the tournament. Jim knew what he was getting into, even if he did not know the specifics. Nevertheless and despite how hard it is, ignoring his frustration is something Jim has to do, since he doesn’t want to look like a whiny, weakling in front of everyone.

With a hand on the wet grass, Jim gets up and finally notices the two enormous mirrors standing to his side, beneath the goal hoops. One of them has a dark grey frame, the other light pink. Jim turns around and is not surprised to see a mirror with a grey frame behind him.

Mirror Magic. Or, as most people know it, the art of illusions. It’s a tricky branch of magic to learn, not taught in most schools because of how complex it can be to create a full, near-perfect illusion and because of how heavily it relies on someone’s memory and their ability to put together replicas of the world solely from what they remember.

Now that Jim knows all of this, everything makes perfect sense. All the faulty details of the reality he was shoved into stand out in his head like a sore wound. Jim just wishes the Ministry’s clue would have been clearer or that he’d stumbled upon the topic during the time he was given to prepare for the task. Both those things would have made everything far easier.

As things are, it will take Jim a while to trust mirrors again and not examine his reflection thoroughly every time he comes by it, but frankly, Jim doesn’t care. He’s just happy to be back, know that the whole thing is over and, by the looks of it, know that he passed.

Jim waves to the crowd and tries in vain to search for his friends’ faces as he smiles like a newly crowned prom king. He’s just finished taking a walk around the mirror behind him to go back to the entrance gate, when Whatley and his crew of brainless reporters comes running out in Jim’s direction.

“Well done! Incredibly well done!” Whatley exclaims. He claps his hands with his arms fully outstretched, like an alligator having an epilepsy attack that makes him open and close his mouth repeatedly while he’s lying on his side.

“Thank you,” Jim says even though what he really wants is to strangle the fat doofus. He rather doubts it was Whatley who came up with the idea to use Mirror Magic, much less actually put the plan to practice, but regardless of whether or not the task is his fault, strangling him would still make Jim feel better.

“Congratulations, my boy. You were superb,” Whatley gives Jim a firm, animated handshake before he turns to the reporters, who had stopped a couple of metres away from them and are now waiting for Jim and Whatley with their cameras already out, “now let’s just take a quick picture,” a momentarily blinding flash makes Jim’s eyes water, “and it’s official. You have completed the first task. Well done.”

“How did I do?” Jim asks as Whatley begins to pull him to the entrance gate, away from all the noise and prying eyes. However, because of said noise, Whatley doesn’t hear him. It’s not until Jim is in the locker rooms, past the empty entrance gate where Jim refused to stay alone in again, that he finds out exactly what happened during his time away.

“Jim,” says the only other person in the room, who had been waiting there for Jim the second he saw the Gryffindor student come out of the mirror because Jim has got the world’s best friend, no doubt.

“Bones,” Jim breathes out in relief before he runs up to his best friend and gives him a tight hug. “Real Bones.”

“How are you feeling, kid?” Bones asks, low voice right against Jim’s right ear.

Jim lets out a breathless laugh, the kind that ranks of hopeful happiness and tired frustration, “I’ve seen better days.”

They both take a step back, Bones holding Jim’s shoulders at an arm’s length away to examine Jim’s appearance thoroughly. Jim finds himself grinning sheepishly without meaning to. For some reason, he’s always embarrassed when Bones’ attentive, healer-shaped gaze lands on him. Probably because the only times Jim has received said gaze is after he’s done something extremely stupid, which happens more often than Jim’s willing to admit.

“What took you so long? Your Mirror’s frame was red practically the whole time.” Bones asks, earning himself a quiet and puzzled look from Jim’s behalf.

“The mirrors. You saw them, right?” Jim nods. “The frames show how close you are to getting out. Blue means you haven’t got a clue you’re in a mirror world, red means you’re almost there, grey means you’re out.”

“Ah... Well, I had a feeling something was wrong almost since the beginning, I just wasn’t sure.”

“James T. Kirk not sure about something? Well color me fancy and call me Nancy, that’s new.”

“Ah. Ah. Shut up,” Jim says without any menace, a spark of laughter playing in his blue eyes, “it’s not like you were of any help.”

Bones laughs and then pauses to get his serious, grumpy face out, “How was it there, anyway? They didn’t tell us much about what you guys were doing, only that they were going to send you to another reality and you had to find your way out.”

“It was shit,” Jim says as he sits down, “nobody but me noticed something wasn’t right. I thought I was going crazy, Bones. A full month of talking and living besides near-perfect replicas of everything and everyone. Never again.”

“You’re back now. That’s what matters,” Bones says and then gives Jim another hug for good measure. “Come on, let’s go watch Khan get third place.”

“Azealia won then?”

“Yeah in less than ten minutes. That was really impressive if I’m honest. Whatley said that one hour here was one month there, so everyone thought it’d take you guys two, three hours. You did it in one, by the way.”

At least there’s that, Jim thinks.

After Bones finds them two reasonably hidden seats on a back row of the Ravenclaw stands, Jim quickly discovers that watching the mirrors is quite possibly the least exciting thing to do in the world. With the passing of time, the color of mirror’s frame turns slightly more vivid. That’s literally the only thing that happens.

Jim watches the stupid thing for exactly five minutes before he decides he’s had enough, grabs Bones’ hand and takes them both in the search of familiar faces.

Jim’s friends are all excited to see him, especially Scotty and Sulu, who don’t have any problems with public displays of affection and tackle Jim the second they see him. Chekov, Spock and Uhura - who has already been labelled as a friend by Jim, even if the decision is not mutual--are more reserved, waiting their turn to congratulate Jim with less boisterous hugs.

Nevertheless, discreet hugs or not, the attention of the crowd around them is easily raised, until nearly everyone has joined in on felicitating Jim.

The next hour is accordingly spent with Jim talking about the task, his version of the events turning grander and more flourished with each retell. The only part he omits is the last one about him and Spock, as just the thought of sharing that makes him uncomfortable. He deems it too personal for people’s ears. Instead, he focuses on the clue he was given, ‘don’t trust mirrors’, and the green eyes instead of blue thing.

Everyone eats up his words without questioning them and by the time Khan finally comes out and the judges announce their scores, half the people in the pitch already know about Jim’s adventure.

It is only in the evening during dinner, after Jim and the other champions have gotten a chance to rest for a bit, that Whatley announces when each champion will receive their next clue, a date decided according to their scores. These are based on numerous factors, but ultimately and not surprisingly, rely on the order they finished the first task.

Azealia will get hers at the end of the evening, Jim right before Christmas break starts and Khan a week before the second task.

After the announcement, Jim spends the rest of the night watching in amusement as Beauxbatons celebrates, with Azealia and Atealia leading the party, and Durmstrang sulks. Khan isn’t even there, which makes Jim laugh openly. Maybe the creepy bad boy from the north isn’t so bad after all.

This time, getting back to normal after the task is easy peasy, lemon squeezy.

There are no mysteries to solve, no wondering what the Ministry is hiding from him and no people acting all calm and relaxed while Jim freaks out. Basically, there’s nothing out of the ordinary and while Jim never thought this would be a good thing, he can definitely see the appeal of it now. Not having to worry about being in the right reality makes it easy for Jim to fall back into an incredibly tiring and stressful, but simple and rewarding rhythm of Quidditch practice, working on the Astronomy project, studying for the N.E.W.Ts, sneaking off to Hogsmeade and falling asleep on the floor of the Ravenclaw common room after a long night of writing a Potions essay on the advantages and disadvantages of using Crewt’s tail in potions, which includes an introduction to Crewt’s tail, its various uses, its history throughout the years as a potion ingredient and, to top it all off, a hand-drawn illustration of a Crewt, because Spock is a thorough, detailed arse and Jim didn’t know what he was getting into when he decided to partner up with him for Potions.

The days pass by quickly, running one after another without any desire to slow down until a talk with Bones grips Jim tight and drags him back into cold, snowy reality again.

It’s mid December, Tuesday afternoon. Perfectly white, extremely cold snow has already began to cover all of Hogwarts, making the warm halls of the castle, heated by a multitude of torches and fireplaces, the best places to be. Jim is at the Library working with Bones on a lengthy essay for Transfiguration about the dangers of turning pets into other animals. Very basic stuff that has Jim yawning in two minutes and is basically a cheap excuse for them to revise old material for their end-of-year exams. The only reason Jim is there is for moral support, as Bones is the one doing all the hard work on the promise that Jim’ll do their next essay.

“Hey, do you know if Spock has turned turned in his paper yet? If we copy from him we could be done in three minutes instead of three hours,” Bones asks as he writes. He sounds a lot like a petulant child and not at all like the hardworking, honest young adult Jim has known for most of his life. He can’t decide whether this is good or not.

“First of all, how would I know if he’s turned it in or not? Second, Spock is like the most anti-cheating guy I know. Doubt he’d be cool with us munching off him.”

“Well, you’re the one with the crush, and you’re always braiding each other’s hairs and ‘working’,” Bones helps his point by making air quotes, “on your Astronomy thing, so I assumed you spent some of that time talking about other stuff, too. And you could always use your baby blues on him.”

Jim regrets his decision to lean back on his chair until it only has two feet on the floor at that moment, since the lack of stability and Bones’ words put together make Jim momentarily lose balance. His arms fly wildly in the search for support and it’s by chance that they land on Bones’ shoulders, making his friend grunt loudly as Jim pulls himself back to more stable ground.

“What did you just say?” Jim asks even though he knows there’s no way he misheard Bones’ words.

“You could use your baby blues on him?”

Jim rolls his eyes. “Not that. The part about the crush.”

“What about it?” Bones asks and the way he sounds like he genuinely has no clue what he means scares him, who is currently under the pretence that Bones is just playing a practical joke on him.

“I don’t have a crush on Spock,” Jim says slowly while staring Bones right in the eye like he’d do with a crazy person or a small child.

“Ok, Jim, sure you don’t,” Bones replies sarcastically before he tries to get back to work on their paper. This attempt fails before it even begins, stopped by Jim when he puts both his hands on top of the parchment and blocks it from Bones’ quill.

“I’m serious,” Jim says. Most of his body is now half lying on the table, half being supported by one of Jim’s legs, which makes Jim’s position stupidly uncomfortable but awfully necessary for Jim to make a point.

“Are you really? Because if you were, you’d let me finish the paper we have to hand in tomorrow.”

Jim ignores Bones’ question and remains on the subject, which is far more important than any dumb essay. “Since when do I have a crush on Spock?”

“Oh, I don’t know, since the very first time you talked? Seriously, Jim, have you seen yourself when you’re with him? Or when you talk about him? Love eyes. Love eyes everywhere.”

Jim leans back, shocked by Bone’s forward answer. He knows his friendship with Spock didn’t exactly fit the criteria for ‘normal’. He knew that it had gotten some people talking and that it was weird for an old time prankster and Gryffindor Quidditch player to befriend a mostly socially reclusive, top student at all subjects Ravenclaw but it had happened, and it’d felt natural and easy so Jim hadn’t questioned it. He and Spock were friends because they fit and Spock got him and didn’t judge him and it worked, even when it didn’t.

But they were just that. Friends. Jim had no idea people, but most importantly his best friend, were getting the wrong impression.

“Really?”

“Really. I thought you hadn’t talked to me about it because you wanted to keep it private or something.”

“No, no. I don’t--I don’t have a crush on Spock,” Jim says as he shakes his head, his thoughts scattered in various directions as he goes through every conversation he’d had with or about Spock and investigates the ‘love eyes’ Bones had mentioned.

“Oh. Well. Alright then,” Bones says.

An awkward silence settles around them, filled only with the faraway sound of pages being turned and of dust falling quietly around them. “Not that it would be a problem, though. I mean, if you had a crush on Spock, which you don’t, and if you guys got together, I’m just saying that it wouldn’t be a big deal. It wouldn’t change my opinion of you,” Bones says, and then waits a beat before he adds, “Well, maybe it would a little bit, but only because it’s Spock, not because of the dick thing.”

Jim stares at Bones with wide, astonished eyes the whole time his friend gives him the awkward, ‘it’s cool if you’re gay’ talk and honestly, Jim has never even thought about that. He’s always known that he swings both ways, but he’s never done anything with a guy yet and so, the topic never truly came up. Sure, he’s made some remarks over the years on how that guy by the coffee shop has a cute butt and Bones had laughed, not taking him seriously.

And that had been that and Jim had never thought about it too much. He’d never thought about what Bones might think of him fancying a guy because Jim doesn’t care what other people think about him, but, most importantly, because the friendship he and Bones share goes far beyond something like sexuality. 

Regardless, hearing first-hand that Bones doesn’t have any problems with Jim liking guys and gals is like having a heavy rock Jim didn’t even know existed lifted from his chest. It’s reassuring and soothing, better than a lungful of fresh air after a too-deep dive underwater.

"Thank you," Jim says and the way Bones smiles at him, genuine and sincere and so happy that the conversation is over that Jim can't help but laugh. Profound moments like this between him and Bones are always awkward, but Jim's quite fond of them nonetheless.

“Did I ever tell you how I figured out I was in the wrong reality?” Jim asks. He hasn't told anyone the truth yet, not even Spock, and while Jim can keep a secret, it feels right to tell Bones about it since, well, it's Bones. Jim tells Bones everything, especially the dirty, disgusting things Bones doesn't want to hear about, and also the private things that he needs to get off his chest every once in awhile.

“Yeah, you saw that that your eyes were green instead of blue in the mirror, wasn’t it?”

Jim nods. “It was that, but that wasn’t what set me off. It was actually a conversation with Spock."

Jim pauses, waiting to see if Bones wants to say something and continuing when he doesn't. “Right before the first task, Spock came to the entrance gate to wish me good luck and called me Jim for the first time. His last words to me were 'don't trust mirrors'. Then Whatley pushed me out to the pitch, I got sent away, and blah blah blah, you know all of that already. But I never noticed the mirrors until I talked with Spock."

"For some reason, he didn't remember meeting me before the task and it was like, something in me snapped. Until then I thought I was just in traumatic shock or something, but when Spock said he didn't remember calling me Jim, I thought I'd gone totally mental. It was only after that that I noticed the mirror and goddamn, what a relief that was."

Jim rests his head in his hands and closes his eyes. Thinking about the time spent in the other reality isn’t easy for him, especially when he focuses on the going crazy thing, which still scares him. Even though Jim knows mirror magic is not easy to put to practice, just the possibility that someone might ever do that to him again is disturbingly frightening.

"You did really well on that task, Jim. I don't think many people would have the guts to believe in themselves when all evidence told them not to. Hell, even I don't know if I have that kind of courage."

"Yeah, but I still got second place," Jim comments lightheartedly. He doesn't actually give a shit about getting second place and not first like many people seem to think he would. Yes, it's a bit of a bum to get the clue later than Azealia, but Jim's got six pair of hands to help him with that job so it's not like it really matters.

"Like there was anything you could do there," Bones scoffs. "The wonder twins probably know each other better than they know themselves. I'm telling you, the second she entered the mirror and saw her twin she knew something was wrong through her twin powers."

"Twin powers?" Jim asks, laughing a little bit at Bones' overly serious tone of voice. 

"It's a real thing. Look it up," Bones replies as he leans forward to get one of the books at the other end of the table. Jim makes a mental note to do so, not because he doubts Bones' words, but because twin powers sound COOLER than the North Pole.

Bones opens the book he picked up,  How To Turn Your Mother-In-Law Into An Elephant and 111 More Useful Spells , and begins to leaf through it after remembering that he is a Responsible Young Man, who does things like Honest Work and is always on time for everything, despite Jim telling him numerous times that it's lame to be on time. Jim tries to create a rabbit made out of the shadows on the wall next to him with his fingers.

“So,” Bones says loudly after ten minutes or so of him working and Jim lazing around, “I take it with the no-crush thing that you’re not taking Spock to the Yule Ball, are you?”

Jim’s eyes bug out comically in realization at the same time as he sits up very, very slowly.

“You forgot about the Ball, didn’t you?” Bones asks, a trickle of laughter permanenting his words as Jim’s face contorts in horror because yes, yes he did. 

He completely, one hundred percent forgot not only about the Yule Ball, which was going to be held on the winter solstice, December the 21st, but he also forgot about how he has to get a date and a fancy suit for when he and the other champions open the dance. At least Jim already knows how to waltz, so there are no worries in that department, which frankly isn’t much of a relief since there are plenty of worries in other departments.

“How could I forget?” Jim asks before he lets his head fall loudly, face-first and dramatically onto the table. The ensuing nose pain the dramatic move causes is a small price to pay for a perfect representation of his immense despair. 

The Yule Ball talk started as soon as the Triwizard Tournament talk started, which was right at the beginning of the school year. Everyone was excited for it, except for the people below the fourth years of course since they couldn’t attend. Everyone else was definitely excited though. There was going to be music, dancing, an opportunity to wear fancy, expensive clothes. What was there not to be excited about?

Well, no dragons for once. And just generally not a lot of crazy danger, which was probably why Jim forgot all about it in the midst of all the crazy tournament stuff while other people were busy scoring dates and planning their outfits.

“Do you have a date?” Jim asks with his head still lying on the table. He’s got a really great view of brown with a couple of shades of black from where he is, a view that accurately represents Jim’s current feelings.

“Yes.”

“With Uhura?”

Bones takes a moment to reply as he weighs the options in his head. In the end, he settles for honesty. “Also yes.”

Jim turns his head around to look at his friend in the eye, since it’s hard to get the truth out of people when you’re plastered pathetically over a wooden table that tastes like old, dead things and dirty nature. “Are you ever going to tell me what’s going on between you two?”

Bones doesn’t answer and Jim doesn’t press him. When Bones wants to share, he’ll share, until then Jim is not in the mood to drill his friend for answers he doesn’t want to give. Also, there are always easier ways to get information, like asking someone who won’t punch him in the balls when he gets tired of Jim’s shit.

Not only that, but Jim has bigger problems to worry about too.

Getting a suit that fits him and accentuates all his best features - because otherwise what’s the point? - won’t be easy, although he can always send his owl home and ask them to send him something, so that isn’t the end of the world. However, getting a good date won’t be nearly as easy. By now, pretty much everyone has someone to go with, and the ones who don’t probably don’t have one for a reason.

“Is there even anyone without a date left?”

Bones leans back in his chair and strokes his non-existent bear as he fakes pondering. “I’m sure there are plenty of people younger than the fourth years without dates.”

Jim lifts his head momentarily so he can slam it against the table again. “Great. I can already picture the headlines after Whatley’s reporter minions hear about it.  Hogwarts Champion Prefers Younger Girls? Exclusive Details Inside! And then inside there’s just a picture of me dancing with a fourteen-year old.”

“Thirteen. Third years are thirteen.”

This time Jim doesn’t let his head fall so much as he actively smacks it against the table. The pain isn’t worth it, but what is?

\------------//------------

Jim’s date is named Alexandra.

She’s a sixth year from Beauxbatons, speaks minimal English and doesn’t smile very often, but when she does, she always lets out a pretty, tiny and shy smile that would have Jim on one knee if he were a weaker man. Her skin is a dark shade of brown and her hair is a mess of fuzzy, impossible-to-control curls that spring in all directions. Her dress is silver and sparkles under the moon, making her tall figure look regal.

She’s beautiful in every possible way Jim can think of and she pays Jim very little attention throughout the night, her eyes fixed on a petite, blonde girl sitting in the corner all alone instead. It doesn’t take long for Jim to put two and two together and frankly, he’s happy that his date has somebody else on the back of her mind as she spins around in his arms, because it explains why she hadn’t found a date until Jim asked her, two days before the Yule Ball, and it also excuses him from feeling like a dick when he says goodbye to her after only dancing to three songs.

“Have fun,” he whispers into her ears and then nods in the direction of the blonde girl.

It takes Alexandra a moment to figure out what he means and why they stopped dancing without warning, and when she finally gets it, the smile she flashes him is the brightest and most genuine he’s seen all night.

“It was good dancing with you,” Alexandra says, vowels stressed under the weight of her accent. She gives him a hug and another smile before she turns away and walks to the girl he presumes is her girlfriend.

Jim tries not to think about why Alexandra accepted his request to be his date--after all this is supposed to be a fun night--and fails horribly.

Hogwarts doesn’t have any problems with gay couples per se, and Jim imagines Beauxbatons can’t be that bad since they’re all French and only Merlin knows what goes on in the halls of cold, lonesome Durmstrang. However, generally speaking, the magical community is quite homophobic. Jim reckons the subtle, always present but never in large quantities hate still felt towards same-sex couples today stems not from genuine hate, but from the hate towards anything that falls out of the norm, which is ridiculous since nothing is normal in the magical community anyway.

It’s the way witches and wizards, unfortunately, are. Muggle-borns, half-bloods, Squibs, half-Veelas, half-giants. You name it. If it’s not a strict, pure-blood relationship the magical community most likely has some sort of prejudice against it.

Knowing this almost makes the situation better, except for the way it totally doesn’t because Alexandra should have been allowed to go with a girl to the Ball without getting any shit for it and she wasn’t, which is absolute balls.

Chekov and Sulu are stuck in the same situation, talking quietly in a corner of the room, both without dates. Or maybe they aren’t, Jim actually has no idea, only unconfirmed suspicions. He’s tried asking Sulu about it multiple times, but his friend keeps dodging the question with one excuse after another and since they’re almost always in the company of other people, be it in their dorm room, Quidditch practice or eating together in the Great Hall, Jim tends to drop the subject pretty quickly to avoid raising attention.

He probably needs to give Sulu the same conversation Bones gave him, something he never thought would be necessary since he’s Jim and he couldn’t care less about what people do in the privacy of their bedrooms, unless it’s a dorm room and he’s also sleeping there. But even then they can always just invite him.

Jim takes a look around the room, sees his friends dancing and talking to other people and thinks about joining them, but refrains at the last second.

The picture is too perfect. The white snow falling above everyone’s heads in tiny clumps, the beautiful, elaborate ice statues and the arrhythmic sound of clumsy feet dancing offbeat to the mellow music, some too quick, others too slow. There’s laughter in the air, as well as a good amount of romance and joy, and all of it is liquid and unhurried and fits together like pieces of a puzzle. It’s a perfect picture, and Jim doesn’t want to ruin it with his meddling presence.

It’s silly, especially considering this is the first Yule Ball he has ever gone to, but he is going to miss this. Maybe not the Ball exactly, but the music, the laughter, the company of his friends and the simplicity that seems to layer everything that evening. That, he is definitely going to miss because he’s not dumb. He knows life outside of Hogwarts is hard and keeping contact with his old friends is even harder.

There are just too many things out there waiting for them, ready to bite them in the ass and drown them in their own failure and Jim’s not scared for himself because he’s an idiot like that, but the thought of something happening to Bones or Spock or Scotty or Sulu or anyone else... That thought is bloody terrifying and what is even worse is knowing how very little he can do besides call a bodyguard to watch over his friends like he did for Spock.

Speaking of bodyguard watch, Jim hasn’t seen Spock all night. Another quick look around the room tells him his friend is nowhere to be seen, so he decides to go search for him outside. He’d been feeling a bit claustrophobic watching everyone and think about their futures anyway, so now’s a good time as any to escape.

Jim walks without any hurry, letting his eyes fall on the people he passes by and smiling whenever someone catches his eye. He compliments a couple of people from his year on their outfits as well, and they compliment him back, some asking him to dance. He says ‘no’ to everyone, as gorgeous as they might look. Now that he’s decided to go outside in search of Spock, spending any extra time in the Ball feels like a great, boring effort that Jim is just not in the mood to deal with it.

Usually he’s all for a good party, but his thoughts are still bothering him, too acute and sharp to let him enjoy himself properly. He needs a breather and as soon as possible.

Outside the Great Hall, Jim takes a turn to the right to enter the Clocktower courtyard. Ice flowers have been spread out on the stone pillars and the dim light they give off is enough for a person to guide themselves around. Anti-snow charms have also been cast on the ground in case it snows, although there was no need. The sky is pitch black that night, not a cloud in sight.

“Hey, there you are,” Jim says when he spots Spock in one of the courtyard’s corners, beneath the stone rooftop and near the castle’s walls, almost hidden in the shadows.

“Hello, Jim,” Spock says and Jim smiles, he can’t help doing so. His name sounds almost poetic when it comes out of Spock’s mouth.

“Not having a good time?” Jim asks. He leans back against the stone railing next to Spock’s side so that they both have the same view of the courtyard entrance, lit by the lights inside the castle and doorway for the music to pass through.

“I am having an adequate time.”

“Adequate, huh?” Jim asks, laughing to himself. Leave it to Spock to describe the Yule Ball as ‘adequate’. “Yeah, I’m a bit bored myself.”

He wants to ask who Spock came with, but since it’s none of his business and he, against popular belief, actually respects his friend’s wishes--most of the time, anyway--he doesn’t bring up the subject.

In the end he doesn’t need to. Spock does it for him.

“I came with a friend of Leonard’s, Christine Chapel. She dances very well, but I found her choices of conversations topics to be rather lacking.”

“What did she want to talk about?” Jim asks.

He’s known Chapel since their first year at Hogwarts, had many late night conversations with her after being sent to the hospital wing for one reason or another and even went out on a couple of dates with her in fourth year, and through all that, never did Jim think Chapel was boring or that her choices for conversation topics were boring. She’s actually quite interesting and intelligent and one of the few people who can keep Bones in check, which makes her awesome as well in Jim’s book. 

“Me,” Spock replies and Jim lets out a little, quiet “ah,” in response before he bursts out laughing.

Spock glares at him and combined with the icy wind hitting their backs, it almost feels like Jim’s being attacked by the cold in his eyes.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry. Just--wasn’t expecting that answer.” 

“I presume then that you didn’t have the same problem with your date?” Spock asks in a bitter, cold tone that Jim knows is mostly for show.

“No, I didn’t,” Jim says, a trail of laughter still tinting his voice, “she didn’t speak much English so we mostly just danced.”

Spock doesn’t reply, probably because he’s still trying to pretend he’s mad at him, so Jim doesn’t say anything either, letting them fall into a comfortable silence instead after Jim forgets all about asking him if the Durmstrang lot has left him alone for good yet.

Without noticing, Jim begins to hum along to the music coming from the Ball, swinging a little from side to side as he lets his mind empty itself of all of its annoying contents, something he doesn’t do very often since he likes to be on top of his game at all times. There’s no need to be on top of his game when he’s next to Spock on the last day of school before break, watching the stars shine softly above him.

Later that night he’s going to get the clue for the second task and he’ll spend all of his Christmas vacation thinking about it, but not before he mails all his friends the Christmas gifts he got for them, a tradition that started in second year when Jim wanted to buy Bones a special, antique healer’s handbag that was only on sale at a small shop in London, which meant that he could only buy it after going home. Since Bones didn’t want Jim to open his gift first, they’d agreed to mail each other their gifts the day before New Year’s and it didn’t take too long for everyone else to hear about this and decide to do the same.

And only then, when Jim knows all his friends got his gifts, will he begin to worry about the clue. For now, he lets his mind wander freely.

Jim keeps mindlessly humming to the music until he notices the song he’s humming to, which makes him stop abruptly and say, “Oh! I love this song!”

Spock opens his eyes and looks at him, curious but not curious enough to voice his questions out loud.

“George Gershwin’s ‘I Got Rhythm’. I learned how to dance with this song.”

“It has a catchy beat,” Spock says with such complete disinterest that Jim is almost demotivated from saying what he wants to say next. Almost.

“Dance with me.”

Spock’s eyebrows fly into his hairline, a deer-caught-in-headlights expression taking over his face. Normally, this would be enough to make Jim stop, but maybe because it’s the winter solstice, and his feelings have been running rampant all evening, or maybe because there’s very little currently in his head, Spock’s surprise only makes him egg him on further.

“Please? Come on. I’ll lead and you’ll just have to follow me. It’ll be fun, I promise.”

And then, maybe because of the same reasons that compelled Jim to ask him for a dance, maybe because of some others entirely, Spock takes his right hand.

“Okay so, this song has a fast beat, but we’ll start off slow and go from there, alright?” Jim asks while staring at Spock’s face to gauge his reaction and to transmit confidence, something he wouldn’t be able to do if he were staring at their feet to make sure they’re moving in the right direction like he wants to.

Spock gives him a tiny nod and Jim begins to move his feet.

“A slow step to the front, two quick steps to the right, a slow step back, two quick steps to the left and rinse and repeat,” Jim says along with the beat, letting his feet do most of the handiwork as he pushes Spock around.

Spock, to his credit, picks up his cue in a matter of seconds, which allows him to speed things up with a delighted grin. “Alright, let go of my hand now, and spin on your feet at the same time as me to the left, yeah, slowly--we want our hands to be at the same level when we end the spin.”

They don’t get that move right on the first try, neither do they get it on the second as their rhythms don’t match, but they get it perfectly by the third and Jim feels stupidly proud.

The song ends without any warning, Jim remembering belatedly that one of the things that made the tune memorable is its sudden ending. The next song that comes on is ‘The Man I Love’, also by Gershwin, but it’s a far more lethargic, traditional pop sound from the 20s that forces Jim to slow down their dance considerably until they’re moving at a waltz speed while kicking their legs according to various energetic jazz steps. 

At some point during the song, Spock takes the lead, pulling Jim slightly closer to him almost imperceptibly over the course of several steps until they’re almost chest to chest. Jim notices him doing this but he doesn’t say anything even though he thinks he should. After all, it’s not normal for two friends to dance so close to a slow song while holding hands, but Spock is warm where Jim is cold and the warmth he irradiates is more than enough to make him move even closer.

The ice flowers scattered around them give Spock’s skin a light blueish tone that only serves to accentuate his cheekbones and make his eye look deeper than a bottomless well. Jim wonders what kind of secrets he might hide behind his eyes. Most likely not many, as Spock’s eyes are the most revealing part of his face. The rest he can school into an emotionless mask whenever he wishes to, but his eyes hide very little, and whatever they might hide has to be big, so big that you’d never be able to see it.

Spock’s lips are pressed into a sharp, thin line and Jim lets himself think about what they’d taste like and how it’d feel to have them softly pressed against his; a quiet first kiss under the moonlight between a romantic idiot and a charming hermit. The weirdest thing about this train of thought is that at first, Jim doesn’t even question it. It feels like a natural progression to him. He and Spock are so close, both physically and mentally, it’d make sense for him to lean forward and kiss him, wouldn’t it?

Jim almost does exactly this, but he stops, thankfully, right in time when his train of thought reaches the end of the rails and loses all control as it crashes against the ground in a fiery ball of death and destruction. Or, put less dramatically, when Jim realizes what he’s doing.

“Err...” Jim begins to say as he puts some space between them.

“I need to go because, clue thing, and... I’m late and it was fun dancing with you?” Jim asks both Spock and himself at the same time. His arms and hands are gesturing wildly, moving without sense in multiple directions as Jim’s brain tries to catch up with the action. “We should do it again. Or maybe not, just, you know, whatever.”

And then, not because he’s a coward but because he’s utterly disoriented, he turns around and runs off. Literally. 

Under the irrational and unfounded fear that everyone in the Great Hall somehow knows all about the thoughts that have just taken a walk across his mind, he tries to sneak into the Ball without being noticed.

Whether he succeeds or not is a mystery as Jim doesn’t bother with paying attention to that part. Instead, he goes on the search for the only soul that he can talk to about what just happened between him and Spock.

“Bones! Bones!” he whispers aggressively as he runs up to his friend, who is leaning against a wall near the now empty dinner tables covered in white fabric and more ice flowers. “You were right. I think I have a crush on Spock.”

“Oh?” Somebody who isn’t Bones says, making Jim turn to his left to see Uhura carrying two small, colored drinks with a curious, happy grin on her face. “I’ll be back in a bit, you two have your talk,” she says after handing Bones one of the drinks, but not before giggling in a way that makes Jim desperately want to get his wand out to make a hole beneath his feet.

“Shit,” Jim says as he watches Uhura strut away. He’d almost be offended by the cockiness in her walk if it weren’t for the fact that the girl looks damn fine in her dress and if there’s something Jim can’t fault people on, it’s for flaunting what they have. 

“Don’t worry, I’ll talk to her later. Anyway, you mentioned a crush?” Bones says as he takes a sip of his drink. Jim can tell he’s trying to hide the same stupid grin Uhura was sporting behind his glass, but he ignores this annoying realisation in favour of the more urgent matter.

“Yeah, on Spock. I think you were right.”

“What happened?”

“We were outside just talking and then this song that I really like came on, and I asked him for a dance and he said yes. And then I sort of taught him how to dance to it, and the first song was like, an energetic jazz beat and we were just jumping around a lot, but then the song ended out of nowhere and the next one that came on was super slow and we got really close and I really, really wanted to kiss him, Bones. Like, I  really wanted to kiss him.”

“Humm... Yeah,” Bones says, pretending to think for a bit before he adds. “It sounds like you have a crush.”

“Who has a crush?” asks Scotty out of bloody nowhere and making Jim jump in fright because seriously, what his he? Some kind of Scottish ninja? Warn a person, jeez.

“Jim on Spock,” Bones says nonchalantly while taking another sip of his drink. He probably thinks he looks all casual and classy when he does it, which he totally does but like hell Jim will ever admit to that.

“Ah yes. Have you gotten it on then yet?” Scotty asks while also taking a sip of his drink. Jim feels like he’s in disadvantage. Where’s his pretentious, fancy drink?

“What?”

“You know, did the horizontal boogie? Checked the oil? Did the old bump uglies, knock boots, baste the turkey?”

“I--” Jim tries say, but Scotty isn’t done yet. No, sir. Human dictionary of names for sex right here, ready to lay out some good, old-fashioned knowledge on all of them.

“Went for a tumble? Did the nasty? Rode the bologna pony? Did the wild monkey dance?”

“Do you have any idea how much I detest you right now?” Jim says, closing his eyes in pure anguish. 

“I could go on,” Scotty suggests with a happy, tipsy smile on his face because he sucks. All of Jim’s friends suck.

“Please don’t,” Bones says and okay, maybe he doesn’t suck as much as the rest of them. But he still sucks a little because he’s definitely laughing at Jim’s pain right now. 

“What am I supposed to do?” 

“Tell him, kiss him and then do all the things Scotty suggested. Seems pretty simple to me.”

“But I’m not sure if I like him, I just think I might. Possibly. It’d be a tiny crush anyway. And what if I make things awkward? I don’t want to do that,” Jim says as he thinks of a hundred other reasons why having a crush on Spock and telling him is a bad idea. He doesn’t even know who he’s trying to convince--himself or Bones.

Bones is about to say something most likely very condescending and in the lines of ‘why do I put up with your sorry ass?’ when he’s crassly interrupted by Mister Walt Whatley, who comes barreling down out of bloody nowhere in a big rush. Jim swears that ever since the tournament started, Whatley has been running around like a headless chicken, disoriented and always late for something. 

“James! My boy! I’ve been looking everywhere for you. Come with me, it’s time for you to receive your clue,” Whatley proclaims as he lays a hand on Jim’s arm and begins to drag him away, not waiting to hear any of his complaints.

“Good luck,” His friends call out as Jim gets taken away. He gives them a little wave.

Whatley pulls him in the direction of the moving stairs once they’re outside the Great Hall. He takes two steps at a time as they go up while trying to maintain an air of calm, composed dignity. Jim wishes he hadn’t worn such tight-fitting clothes, even if they do make him look fantastic. His pants keep locking on his knees and his groin, which makes keeping up with Whatley far harder than it should be for someone who runs himself to exhaustion twice a week in Quidditch practice.

“How are you enjoying the tournament so far, James?” Whatley asks, trying to make small talk.

“It’s been...” Jim runs numerous answers through his mind. Mental? Insane? Weird? Tiring? Dangerous but also really rewarding and exciting? An excuse to get closer to Spock? In the end, Jim settles for the best neutral-sounding answer he can come up with. “Fun. It’s been fun.”

“Good, good... Very good to hear. The Ministry has been enjoying the tournament a lot so far as well. We’re very excited about the next tasks. Very excited indeed,” Whatley says, trailing off as they approach a small, unmarked wooden door in the third floor.

“Now just wait right here and I’ll be back in a moment’s notice,” Whatley doesn’t give Jim any time to reply before he enters the room and closes the door behind him.

Jim takes a look around as he waits, feeling slightly creeped out by the atmosphere around him. The corridor he’s in looks the same as all the others: a couple of tapestries here and there, some stone statues of old kings and wizards that probably did something great in their time or had enough money to buy a statue of themselves, various torches set out all across the walls, some lit, others cast in the dark. Nothing feels out of place, and yet there he was, a hand on his wand and feet ready to bolt.

For a second, he thinks he’s back at the mirror reality, but he quickly shakes that thought away. The feeling he got during the first task was that something was universally wrong; this time, he is sure the only thing that is wrong is the corridor. Jim has travelled the hallways of Hogwarts at night more times than he can count, but tonight the air around him feels undoubtedly different. The old warmth that seemed to seep from the walls to surround him and reassure him that he was home can no longer be felt. Instead, the air is chilly and unwelcoming, and every breath he takes is too loud.

He’s about to ask Whatley to hurry up when he hears the sound of footsteps coming from the opposite side of the hallway. His grip on his wand grows tighter and he doesn’t release it when the figure comes out of the shadows.

“Khan,” Jim says. He can’t help but glare at the man in front of him, even though they haven’t spoken a word to each other ever since he caught Khan being all sneaky in the Restricted Section, something that he has definitely not forgotten and is still quite curious about.

“Kirk,” Khan replies, stopping a good ten metres away from Jim. They stare at each other for a couple of seconds, both trying to assess what the other is doing.

Khan is no longer in his Yule Ball outfit, which looked good on him if Jim’s honest but was still very embarrassing. No one should be allowed to wear that much red and top it all off with fur. He is, instead, wearing a simple black outfit that starts with black shoes, black pants and a black shirt and ends in a simple black jacket, without a centimetre of fur in sight. It doesn’t take Jim very long to realise that an all-black outfit is ideal to sneaking out unnoticed, which abruptly brings him back to his first confrontation with Khan and makes him say, “Taking a night stroll of Hogwarts, then?”

“Your school is very beautiful.” Khan’s ensuing smile reeks of fake innocence and bloody murder. He’s lying and both he and Jim know that, only Jim can’t call him out on it because he doesn’t know what Khan is lying about but by Merlin is he desperate to know. It can’t be good. No one who steals books from the Restricted Section and acts like he’s Merlin reincarnated can be up to anything good.

Jim decides to take a risk and ask, in the chance that he’s got it right and he’s one step closer to knowing what Khan is up to. “Are you looking for something?”

The change in Khan’s demeanour is almost imperceptible but it’s there alright. He flinches, eyes slipping close as his smile turns into an ugly frown. The changes only last a fraction of a second before Khan recuperates; perfect, overly confident, white smile coming back like it’d never gone away.

“What I am doing is none of your business.”

Jim is trying to figure out a way to say it is his business if he’s doing it in Hogwarts when Whatley barges in with all the stray energy of a cheetah on rollerskates.

“Sorry it took me so long, James, I couldn’t find it and - oh! Mister Khan! I’m sorry but you mustn't be here right now, I’m about to give James the second clue. I’m sure you two can continue your little chat later.”

“Yes, I’m sure we can,” Jim says while staring right at Kahn, who only flashes Whatley a curt smile before he turns around and leaves in the direction he came from.

“Here it is then. The second clue,” Whatley says as he gives Jim a piece of paper.

The paper has a single title, written in a language Jim doesn’t know. ‘Grande Javali’ is what it says in brown ink. Beneath it, written in an almost illegible handwriting are the words ‘Great Boar’. There is a drawing on the right corner of the page, although it’s hard to tell if it’s really a drawing and not just a big ink stain. The boar, if it can be called that, is more or less a big trunk on top of four tiny legs. Its teeth are of ridiculous size and its eyes are vivid red. The rest of the boar is painted in various shades of oxidized red and there are various scratches on the creature that he can only assume are patches of hair.

All in all, it looks like something a child would draw, except more ferocious and only slightly more realistic.

Beneath the drawing is a large wall of text. Unfortunately, and most likely on purpose, it’s hard to tell what the text says due to the messy handwriting, ink splotches and various crossed out words and letters that make the whole thing look like a quickly scribbled, poorly thought out mess.

Jim is squinting at the paper and trying to decipher the first few lines when Whatley coughs to raise his attention.

“I have some business to attend to, so I’ll be going now, James,” Whatley says as he rubs his hands together.

Jim nods, smiling a little bit as he does so to be polite before he adds, “Thank you for the clue.”

Whatley decides to follow his footsteps and flashes him a polite smile before he disappears into his little room.

Jim puts the paper in one of his many inside pockets and briefly considers going back to the Ball before he takes the stairs to the seventh floor. He’ll need to wake up early the next day to pack his things, something he is decidedly not excited to do. Going home is never fun and he doubts this Christmas Holiday will be much of an exception. Sam will be back with his girlfriend, so at least there will be that, and mum and Frank, Jim’s step-dad, will be fine for the first couple of days. It’s only after he’s been there for a week, bored and tired of the same old country life that makes him want to crawl up the walls, that the shitfest begins.

In the past, when that time came, there was very little Jim could do. Now he just packs all his stuff, gives his mum and his brother, if he hasn’t left yet, a quick hug and leaves before either can say anything. A quick wave of his wand once he’s far away enough that his family can’t see him from the house brings the Knight Bus, an old purple triple-decker that helps stranded wizards and witches get wherever they need to go, to his location and takes him to Bones’ house.

Jim is lost in his thoughts when he reaches the Gryffindor common room entrance and bumps into Sulu, Chekov and Bones, who had both been waiting for him. Jim can’t help feeling a little bit heartbroken when he notices that Spock is nowhere to be seen.

“What did Whatley give you?” is the first thing Bones asks.

“I’m not sure yet, it looks like a page ripped from a notebook. The only thing it’s missing is the torn side,” Jim says, taking out the piece of paper and handing it to his friends, who push their heads together to give themselves a closer look.

“Big Boar would be a great name for a Quidditch mascot,” Sulu says, making everyone look at him. “What? It would be.”

“And what about your crush on Spock? Have you talked to him yet?” Bones asks after handing back the paper to Jim.

“How would I have talked to him? I was talking to Whatley not five minutes ago. Also,” Jim waves his hands wildly in Sulu and Chekov’s direction, who up until two seconds ago didn’t know about his crush, which Jim himself isn’t even on hundred percent sure about yet, “can you not?”

“Oh, they already know.” Bones says with a dismissing wave of his hand.

“I thought everyone knew?” Sulu asks at the same time as Chekov shyly says,

“You are kind of obvious, Jim.”

“I am?”

“It’s the love eyes. They give you away immediately,” Bones adds.

“Wait, how can everyone knows if I didn’t know until an hour ago?”

Bones shrugs his shoulders. “You can be a bit of a clueless potato sometimes,” he says, which makes Jim glare at him and everyone laugh, including Bones himself who is apparently lame enough now to laugh at his own stupid joke.

“Anyway,” Bones says, loudly and dramatically just in case there were any doubts that everyone should be listening to him, “it’s been a long night. Let’s go to bed, pack and regroup at the train tomorrow to talk about the scribbles Whatley gave you.”

Jim nods, happy to go to sleep soon. He gives Bones and Chekov a little goodbye wave before he wakes up the Fat Lady to give her the password. Once inside the common room, Jim has to wait for Sulu to catch up, which serves as a boost for Jim to figure out, once and for all, what’s going on between him and Chekov. If Sulu already knows about Jim’s crush on Spock, which is still on purely hypothetical grounds, then he also certainly knows Jim doesn’t care about the gender of who he’s getting it on with.

“So...” Jim begins and then promptly falls into silence as he tries to figure out the best way to say he has no problems with Sulu dating a guy. “You know I’m cool with all forms of sex, right? As long as it’s safe and consensual and everyone’s having a good time, of course.”

Sulu gives him a funny look. “It’d be kind of weird if you weren’t.”

He passes Jim and heads for the stairs, making Jim run to catch up with him. “Well then you also know that I’m cool if you and Chekov are seeing each other, right?”

Sulu pauses, not turning to look back at Jim when he says, “I figured you would be.”

“Then is there anything you want to tell me?” Jim asks, stepping in front of Sulu to make sure he has his friend’s attention. Sulu sighs and for a second Jim thinks he’s being too nosy, but then he notices how the corners of Sulu’s mouth curve upwards when he next speaks, making Jim relax.

“Me and Chekov are seeing each other. It’s a new thing. I only realized it after you got me to talk to the twins from Beauxbatons. They’re nice but they’re just not...”

“A Russian fifteen-year-old whiz?”

“Yeah, that,” Sulu says as he laughs.

“And this is good new thing, yeah?” Jim asks, looking at Sulu out the corner of his eye as they enter their dorm room.

“Yes. It’s definitely a good thing. ”

“Alright then, good to hear. I’m happy for you two. Also, I claim dibs on being the best man if you two ever marry.” Jim pats Sulu on the back and heads for his bed.

“Too late, Bones already beat you to it.”

“What? Oh for crying out loud.”

Of course Bones beat him to it. Of course he knew Sulu and Chekov were seeing each other for real before Jim did. Curse him and his natural healer skills, no man should ever hold so much omnipresent snooping power.

That night Jim sleeps like a rock, quietly and undisturbed by everything around him except for nature’s most powerful agents of erosion, like water and wind, which are kept at bay by the good, solid walls of Hogwarts. This serves as a small consolation for when he’s rudely woken up next morning by the noise of his dorm mates hastily throwing shirts and scarfs into their trunks.

“Can you keep it down?” Jim asks, face hidden against his pillows and his fortitude of blankets. Somebody throws a chocolate frog at him and Jim doesn’t bother questioning why people keep throwing food at him while he’s in bed, eating the chocolate and hiding the card in his bedside table before anyone can ask for it back instead.

Packing goes by uneventfully, as does the trip back home, which is actually unexpected since something always happens on the trip back home. Be it a hexing battle between the Gryffindors and the Slytherins, something Jim only initiated once in his third year after Pimb Pimberton accused him of cheating in their last Astronomy test, or an accidental transfiguration charm that turned all the people in the fourth carriage into giant bees, something always happens that leaves people either laughing or running for their lives. Jim is not quite sure how he feels when the entire ride goes by without a single shout.

Jim, Bones, Scotty all stay in the same compartment, joined by Spock and Uhura later on when the two are done with their Head Boy and Head Girl duties. Jim does everything in his power to not stare at Spock with what Bones had so quickly named ‘love eyes’, but he reckons he does a poor job at it from the way Bones nudges him in the ribs and whispers, “keep it in your pants, Jim,” halfway through a conversation between Jim and Spock about Jim’s clue for the second task.

Jim flicks him off and doesn’t bother replying since he knows that would only raise everyone’s attention. He’s happy to get away with just one raised eyebrow from Spock, who is still very much decided into examining the clue with every cell in his brain until he can come up with a plausible theory of what the task will be like. So far they have a general idea that Jim will have to face the Big Boar, but what the Big Boar is exactly is still out of their grasp.

Uhura is currently examining the handwriting and translating it into readable English, which definitely helps. From what she’s gathered so far the text is about a first, rushed encounter with the Boar. It’s very vague on most terms, focusing excessively on the mighty power of the Boar and how its sighting alone could send entire villages into hiding. The Boar’s actual power is not described, the author of the text preferring to hyperbole the Boar’s description instead.

During the train ride they also talk about Khan, Jim retelling his last encounter with him the night before.

“Just because he was wearing black clothes doesn’t mean he’s up to something,” Bones says after Jim’s done talking, which earns him a couple of sharp looks from everyone.

He’s right, obviously. Wearing certain clothes doesn’t mean anything, except that in this case it does because Khan is most definitely up to something. Jim has been too busy with the tournament to socialize with people outside his group of friends, but that doesn’t mean said group of friends is in the same position. Through a quick gossiping session, Jim learns that other people have, too, had the delightful pleasure of bumping into Khan on a nightly run.

The stories all sound almost exactly the same, the only difference between them being the time and where Khan was found. The details vary wildly from just after dinner by the Potions classroom to three a.m. on an empty corridor on the seventh floor, which reassures Jim’s suspicion that Khan is searching for something.

Everyone in their little train compartment is still busy discussing Khan’s mysterious actions when the train arrives at King’s Cross Station.

Jim waits back as his friends begin to leave and asks Uhura to stay with him for a second, which earns him curious glances from both Spock and Bones.

“I just wanted to say thank you,” Jim says when they’re finally alone. He’s already thanked Spock for all the help he’s been giving Jim ever since the Tournament started, but he has yet to thank Uhura even though he’s had plenty of opportunities to do so.

Truthfully, Jim’s still not very sure why Uhura puts up with him. He imagines Spock and Bones both put in a good word, but he feels like that’s too cheap and something Uhura wouldn’t pay much attention to. Jim might not know her well, but seven years as house mates have taught him a thing or two about her, and one of those things is that Uhura listens to her judgement and doesn’t give a flying fuck what other people say.

“You’re welcome, Kirk. You’re not so bad, you know? Certainly not the annoying brat you used to be,” she says, making Jim wonder if she can read his mind.

“Thanks,” Jim says as he smiles ruefully. He decides to change the subject before he begins to blush too. “So, you don’t happen to want to tell me what’s going on between you and Bones, do you?”

Uhura smiles and laughs, picking up her suitcase as she makes way for the door at a lingering pace. “Not unless you want to tell me what’s going on between you and Spock.”

“Fair deal,” Jim says, shaking his head. He reckons if he told Uhura and asked her to keep a secret she’d to exactly that, her Gryffindor honour too great to allow her to break her promise. However, that would imply Jim knows what’s going on between him and Spock, which he absolutely doesn’t.

He figures things are still the same, the only problem being that they certainly don’t feel the same. Jim has no idea if it’s because of him and his sudden realization that he wants to lick Spock’s face or if things are really, truly, different between both of them. Asking Spock would probably provide him with an answer, but like hell Jim is doing that.

He’d much rather mull over his own thoughts for hours, replay every single conversation he’s ever had with Spock and overanalyze things as he drowns in tea, thanks.

“Have fun and good luck,” Jim says as he gives Uhura a quick hug outside the train.

“You too,” she replies, pecking Jim on the cheek before she runs off to find her family.

Jim takes a look around the station to see if he can spot anyone he knows, but everyone has either left already or is with their families and since Jim doesn’t want to be that guy, he picks up his bag from the floor and leaves without another word.

As he makes his way to the exit, Jim spots Spock with his family. They’re standing to the side, away from the crowd. Spock’s mum has her arms around Spock in a tight embrace, a look of exuberant joy on her face. In contrast, Spock’s father looks very stoic as he stands next to the two of them with a carefully neutral face. It’s not a long shot to guess Spock’s discrete behavior comes from his dad, although he also gets something from his mum as the gentle smile on his face indicates.

Jim considers going up to them and introducing himself but quickly dismisses the idea. If Spock wanted Jim to meet his parents, he’d have said something.

Jim’s brother and his girlfriend, Aurelan, are waiting for Jim outside the train station, next to Sam’s old pickup truck. The car ride back to the house is spent talking about Australia, Hogwarts and the Tournament. Jim skillfully avoids mentioning Spock in an unfounded fear that his brother will be able to tell what’s going on if Jim even dares to say his friend’s name. This is quite difficult to do as pretty much everything related to the tournament is, in one way or another, connected to Spock.

Back at the house, things are not as awkward as Jim expected them to be. Winona cries when she sees Jim step out of the truck and hugs him tight, Frank gives Jim this weird pat on the back and it’s not bad, it’s just not what it should be because this house, with its chipped blue walls and its quaint red door and its brick chimney should be Jim’s home. It should be the place he sends a letter to every month asking how things are doing and talking about his life, it should be the home to his fondest memories, it should be his safe haven and it’s not that. It’s never been. Hogwarts is Jim’s home, and soon a tiny, smelly apartment in London will be Jim’s second home. This house, with all of its flaws and beauty and memories, is the past.

Jim manages to play the good kid role for about three hours before the effort begins to drain him and he excuses himself to his bedroom, which is mostly just an empty room with a couple of basic furniture pieces and an ugly carpet. Once there, Jim decides to get the presents he’s bought for his friends out of his bag so he can begin to wrap them and maybe mail them later.

He got Bones a fifty-year-old bottle of the super fancy, ridiculously expensive firewhiskey sold only in Latvia, Sulu a ticket to the next Quidditch World Cup, Chekov a collection of retro muggle music, Scotty a fourth edition copy of  The First Book on Experiments and Uhura a set of quills from rare birds. Jim also got something for Spock, a first edition copy of a book on space travel he’d ordered back in November but now, looking at how his friendship with Spock has grown tremendously over time and compared to some of the other gifts Jim got for everyone else, Spock’s gift looks pathetic.

The decision to head out and find another gift for Spock comes naturally to him, like an extension of his limbs. Jim doesn’t need to think twice before he begins to wrap himself up in scarves and warm clothes, gets some floo powder and heads out to the familiar streets of Diagon Alley.

Jim walks at a leisurely pace as he takes his time inspecting every shop window in search of something interesting to buy. It can’t be a book, Spock already has enough of those, and it can’t be something Spock could easily buy from himself either since there’s no fun in that. It has to be something that will make Spock stop and say ‘fascinating’ in his deep voice.

Nighttime comes sooner than expected, and Jim grabs a quick, hot and cheap meal in Sir Loin of Beef before he continues his search for the perfect gift. At some point in the evening it begins to slow, but not even that deters Jim from examining every shop extensively.

It is around ten, after most shops have closed and people have begun to clear out of the streets as they head home, when Jim finally finds it. The shop is called A Bluestreak's Dream, its windows are grease-stained and the wood on the door looks like it’s one step away from becoming mushroom food. It sells all kinds of items from rare antiques to secondhand broomsticks to never-before-seen magical artefacts.

The item Jim wants can be glimpsed at from the outside, its shiny gold paint making it stand out against the many other objects surrounding it. Its price is steep and the shopkeeper, a tiny, old woman with a glass eyeball, isn’t having none of Jim’s luscious smile and toxic charm. She is, however, disadvantaged against Jim’s stubbornness and eventually they settle for a twenty-five percent cut from the original price.

Jim leaves the shop with a smile on his face and immediately heads to the post office, where he carefully packages the gift for one of the owls there to carry.

Initially, he had planned to get everyone a postcard, but since the post office have none currently on sale, Jim settles for a normal, blank card. He draws - or tries to at least - a hippogriff wearing a red and gold scarf on one side, and on the other writes.

Merry Christmas, Spock!

I hope you’re enjoying yourself wherever you might be, that you’re getting a decent rest like you deserve and that you like this gift I very skillfully bought and wrapped for you.

I wish I could be there with you when you open it, but alas geography is not our friend. I miss you already and I’ll hold it against you forever if you dare not to write me back. 

Your great pal, 

James Kirk

The note is stupid and corny and Jim writes and rewrites every line in his head multiple times before he finally settles for the first words that come to his mind. He almost scratches out the ‘I miss you’ part after he’s finished, afraid that the words look more like a love confession than something two friends would say to each other. The only reason why he ends up leaving them is because the post office is about to close and Jim doesn’t have time to write another card, since sending a scratched card would be too crass even for him.

Jim truly hopes Spock will mail him back, as it’d make Christmas vacation more entertaining and possibly help Jim figure out what his feelings for Spock are doing. Jim also genuinely hopes Spock will like the gift he got for him, although on this he has a smaller amount of doubts.

The gift he’d picked out for him is, after all, pretty damn great. It’s a golden, one metre long telescope from the nineteenth century, crafted by Magnolius Sylvester, a famous telescope maker who was murdered by the King’s men for practicing witchcraft. The amazing and most fascinating thing about the Sylvester telescopes is that they were all made through the combined use of magical and muggle tools. However, and as incredulous as it might sound, Sylvester had no idea that he was wizard. For some reason he never got his letter from Hogwarts, and so his magic went to his crafting skills, put to use through sweat and hard work, something most wizards weren’t experts on.

The reach of a Sylvester telescope is said to go as far as the human mind allows and the fact that Jim found one and had enough money to buy it is crazy cool.

That evening Jim can’t help keeping a smile off his face, and he goes in a good mood to bed even after Frank yells at him for running off earlier without saying anything.

Christmas day comes and goes quickly in a blur of too much eggnog and nonstop Christmas carols on the radio. Jim gets gifts from all of his friends during the night, although some arrived a bit earlier. All of them were kept in a corner of Jim’s room until Christmas morning as Jim likes to follow tradition.

Bones gets him a new backpack, aware that Jim’s hold one was one step away from clothing apoptosis, Sulu a ticket to the Quidditch World Cup, which gets a big laugh out of Jim on sight, Scotty a small globe that plays music when touched, most likely made by the man himself, Chekov a collection of novelty vodka bottles, and Uhura a beautiful red and silver scarf.

The most surprising gift, and the last one to arrive, is Spock’s. It gets there only by Christmas night, after Jim’s opened all the other gifts and tried his best to avoid feeling gloom when he noticed Spock hadn’t sent him anything because he’s not a whiny child desperate for attention, goddammit. Its package is quite big and it only takes Jim a couple of seconds of ripping the wrapping paper to shreds to find out why.

It’s a model of a spaceship, something Jim had only seen in muggle pictures before. The box it’s in looks quite old and there’s a child holding the spaceship in his arms on the front of the box, so Jim figures it’s a children’s toy. However, made for kids or not, the level of detail on the model is still incredible. Jim has no idea if all muggle toys are like this, but if they are he definitely needs to look into them because Jim wouldn’t mind owning a whole collection of these.

Attached to the present is also a small letter from Spock that tells about Spock’s holiday, how his mum helped Spock search for this gift and how he hoped Jim would like it and an apology for sending it so late. Apparently Spock had tried to send it earlier, but the family owl, who is old and has seen better days, got lost and ended up crashing into a barn, meaning Spock had to rush to a post office unexpectedly while it rained a piss storm to get the gift to Jim on time.

Jim’s heart does pounds loudly in his ribcage as his eyes eat every word of Spock’s and there’s this warm feeling in his stomach afterwards that has nothing to do with the eggnog and there are no doubts left. Jim has a crush on Spock. Whatever. It’s no big deal. Jim gets crushes on people all the time.

And by ‘all the time’ what Jim really means is absolutely never, but no one needs to know that tiny, little detail. For now, all that matters is that Jim gets some ink and a paper to mail Spock back.

\------------//------------

Jim takes the bus to Bones’ house three days before New Year’s Eve after a nasty fight with Frank.  He says goodbye to his mom, something he normally doesn’t have time for, and for the first time in a long time leaving doesn’t feel like a sick blow to his stomach. Instead it feels like something that is going to happen, regardless of whether or not Jim wants it to, and accepting this is easy, possibly in a way that shouldn’t be.

Returning to Hogwarts is even easier. Jim laughs and jokes around with his friends on their trek to the castle even as the snow bites their skin. He gives everyone a hug when he sees them, thanks them for their gifts and says, “you’re welcome,” when they do the same. Even though he expects the flutter in his stomach when he hugs Spock and hears his friend’s warm, “thank you,” whispered against his ear, the action is somehow still a surprise that has Jim smiling impossibly wide, cheeks flushed red.

Going back to the library to research Jim’s clue for the second task is a welcomed, and much favoured, decision. The library might not be very warm due to the lack of fireplaces, but it’s still better place to be than the freezing Quidditch pitch or the brimming Great Hall, full of students trying to study and accidentally blowing things up.

Jim made little progress on figuring out what the clue is about during Christmas break, something he already expected since he had little to go from in the first place. Another expected thing is Spock and Uhura not feeling the same way, which is demonstrated on the first day they all step foot in the library and Spock and Uhura share all the ideas and thoughts they already have. They would have probably gone even further if they had had the original clue Whatley gave Jim.

Unlike with the first clue, before they begin to work they make a plan of action, in which it’s decided that they’ll start simple and research first the basics, which includes any book they can find on existing magical creatures, before they move onto more complex matters, like unexisting magical creatures.

This decision turns out to be a smart one when they find the answer they’re looking for in about two hours.

“Hey guys, I think I got it,” Jim calls out as he rereads the words on the page in front of him.

The Steel Gobbler - or as it is known in some parts of Africa, the Big Boar - is an incredibly dangerous creature commonly located in desert areas of East Africa. The first documented sighting of the Steel Gobbler was in 1823, by the Portuguese wizard José ‘ZéZé’ Camarinha, although it is believed the Gobbler has lived in Africa for longer than humans. Now at the face of extinction due to uncontrolled hunting by wizards, the Steel Gobbler is known for its three horns, with various, rare magical properties, its leather-like skin, which is impervious to most spells but can be damaged by muggle tools, and its natural magic, which has the power to instill fear in people close proximity to it.

There are numerous natural reserves with Steel Gobblers spread throughout africa, but it is nevertheless difficult to keep track of the creature due to its shy, lonely nature and its capacity to kill anyone who comes close to it in two seconds by ramming into them.

“Yup, this is it.”

The first person to get to Jim’s side is Spock, who puts one hand on the back of Jim’s chair and the other on the table to help him maintain balance as he reads. He has his head only a couple of centimetres away from Jim’s, and Jim finds himself staring at Spock’s face despite his best wishes. He forces himself to look away when he notices his friends looking at him like he’s the biggest idiot on the planet.

“I believe you are correct,” Spock says, warm breath close enough to Jim’s skin to make Jim shiver. He turns to the group to address them with his next words. “The creature in Jim’s clue is named Steel Gobbler. We should uncover more about it before trying to arrive to any conclusions.”

After this discovery, their research dramatically slows down. The stress to find an answer is no longer present, and Jim already has enough knowledge to not feel afraid like he had felt before the first task. Sure, ‘impervious to most spells’ does have a bad ring to it, and come February they still don’t have any information on what those spells might be, but it’s nothing they can’t manage.

Scotty suggests making Jim a muggle contraption for him to use during task, but Jim rather doubts that he has to actually face a Steel Gobbler. After all, the creature is at risk of extinction. It certainly wouldn’t make the Ministry look very good to have a bunch of rare creatures put down by teenagers.

The second task will be held at the end of February, which means time begins to pretty much fly by when they hit that calendar page. One day it’s February the 1st, the next it’s February the 28th and Jim is being led to deep into the Dark Forest alongside the other champions.

Whatley had come get them when they were still in the Great Hall having breakfast. Jim had said goodbye to his friends and given all of them a big hug because he’s a tactile guy and he likes hugs, totally not because he has a tendency to be a dramatic sap at times. He lingers a bit longer on the hug he gives to Spock, a lingering desire in his heart to pull the other away from the crowd and ask him to wish him good luck again like he had before the first task.

Two other Ministry officials and a couple of reporters follow them into the Dark Forest. On the way in, Jim notices various large stands facing the forest a good hundred metres away from them. Whatley explains that that is where the crowd will be in but doesn’t elaborate any further, adding that he’ll give them all the details when they get to the tent they have set up inside the Forest.

Their path is illuminated by various magical floating lights, and it doesn’t take them long to get to the tent Whatley mentioned, which is small, a ghastly shade of green and surrounded by numerous protecting spells that make Jim sneeze violently when he crosses them.

“Alright!” Whatley says, clapping his hands together and doing a perfect 180º degrees turn on the heels of his feet. “Are we all here? Nobody got lost? Good, good... Would have been a bit of a bother to have to go back.” He trails off.

“In your clue, you received reference to a creature called Big Boar, also known as a Steel Gobbler. Whatever you did with this information, I do not know. However, I must inform you that in this task you will not face the Steel Gobbler unless you wish to.”

Jim eyes Whatley curiously. Unless they want to? What is that supposed to mean? Who in their right mind would wish to face a creature called Steel Gobbler? The name alone is enough to make Jim want to run away.

Whatley laughs at the look on all of their faces, a calm in him that Jim had never seen before, almost like he’s happy to send them into the next task. “In this task you will have to carry one of these,” Whatley takes three small, blue crystals from one of his pockets, “from this tent to the stands we saw at the entrance of the Forest. These crystals are called Lights of Zakariya al-Razi, and they will shine brightly where no other light will.”

“If you wish to get to the stands quickly, you must use the Lights to guide you, as you will be unable to cast a lumos spell or any other of the sort in the forest. However, be warned: there is a Steel Gobbler in the forest, cast in the darkness like you, and it will undoubtedly run towards any source of light it sees. If that happens, you will be forced to face it and use your magic to the best of your ability. If you wish to quit halfway through the task, cast a fireworks spell into the sky and wait for someone to get to you. Are we understood?”

Jim nods grimly. He hadn’t expected something like this and now he wishes nothing more than to go back, listen to Spock and Bones’ complaints and research the Gobbler further like he should have. The Dark Forest is winding maze of looming trees and twisting paths, home to all kinds of beasts and creatures. There is no way Jim can go through it without a light to guide him, but he’d much prefer to not face the Steel Gobbler along the way.

The first person to go is Azealia, who marches into the darkness with her head held high and a determined trot to her step. Jim pockets his crystal and waits for his turn in silence. Khan sits in a corner by himself on the other side of tent, and Jim almost considers going up to him and asking him if he’s found what he’s looking for yet, but his heart is just not in it. Instead, it’s much rather focused on listening to all the small, nearly non-existent sounds coming from outside the tent and trying to compose a plan that will ensure Jim’s victory and subsequent survival.

Time seems to flow slowly around them as if it were a caramel river, languid and toxic. Jim is not sure how much time has passed when Whatley calls him and tells him it’s his turn. He just nods, mind vacant of any thoughts, and tries to step out of the tent with the same determination and confidence as Azealia.

Outside the tent, Jim takes a couple of deliberate steps as he watches his surroundings, wary of what might be lurking in the shadows. With the crystal in his pocket, the only light guiding Jim is the one coming from the tent, which Jim can see if he looks back, but not for much longer. With each step he takes, the tent melts further into the background, disappearing altogether when Jim crosses the protecting spells.

And then, all Jim can see is the darkness. It’s everywhere. Above him, beneath him, around him, covering every inch of his body from his toes to the tip of his hair until Jim feels he is darkness himself. He pulls his wand out and whispers, “ lumos ,” even though he already knows what’s going to happen.

The spell doesn’t work and Jim laughs, scared and defenseless. His heartbeat is beginning to speed up, until it reaches the point where it’s so loud in Jim’s ears that Jim can barely hear anything else. The lack of his hearing abilities is almost as terrifying as the darkness, since it means Jim has two of his senses down, only three others to go. But that, somehow, isn’t the scariest part. The scariest part is knowing that he’s been in the forest alone for less than a minute and he still has hell to go through if he wishes to get to safety before something else gets to him.

Distantly, Jim becomes aware that the fear spreading through his body like poison is irrational and completely unlike him. Jim is not above fear, he knows that very well, but he is above crippling fear that renders one obsolete and spineless in mere seconds. He’s been in the Dark Forest before, many times actually, and never has he felt so afraid as he does now. Granted, he’s never been in the Dark Forest cast in complete darkness, but this is something Jim can fix.

With his eyes closed and his hand trembling, Jim pulls the crystal out of his pocket and puts a definite end to his plans of keeping the crystal hidden away during the task to attract as little attention as possible.

The Light of Zakariya al-Razi, as Whatley had called it, shines brighter than any  lumos spell Jim could conjure, but it’s still not enough to give Jim a clear view of the path ahead of him. The light only shows him what’s close to him, so that anything a couple of metres away remains pitch black as Jim is forced to start moving.

His heartbeat grows quieter the further he delves into the forest, or maybe Jim’s ears are simply forcing themselves to hear more than they’re supposed to. Either way, every sound made near Jim’s periphery is replicated as a loud and sharp warning noise inside Jim’s skull, which considerably slows down Jim’s progress as it makes him look around in all directions every few seconds.

It really doesn’t come as a surprise when Jim gets lost after having taken, at most, fifty steps.

“Dammit,” Jim curses, and then curses himself again for making noise.

Since he can’t remain hidden in the darkness, Jim had been focusing all of his concentration on hearing everything around him while not making any sound. This also helped him not to focus on the sensation of a thousand black spiders crawling his body and puncturing his skin in the search for warmth and flesh to eat, which is what Jim is feeling right now.

And then, because that’s not enough, because that could never be enough, because that just can’t be enough, Jim hears it. To his left, a heavy, labored breathing mixed with the sound of stomping on the ground.

Jim’s next actions are instinctive, forged by the footsteps of his ancestors when they still lived in the animal-run world. Jim shoves the crystal in his pocket and runs for his life, barely a string of coherent thought left in his mind.

Without light it’s impossible to see what’s ahead, but the sound of the Gobbler running after him is enough to make Jim keep running. He pushes himself through an endless maze of trees, gets his clothes ripped to shreds and cuts everywhere as he makes his way through a sea of branches and never does he stop running. Not until the ground is taken away from him.

Jim trips on a tree root, amazed at how that hadn’t happened sooner, and then he’s flying, soaring across the air; there’s not an inch of his body touching the ground until he hits the dirt face-first. It doesn’t take long for the rest of his body to greet the earth personally and then Jim is sprawled against the ground, his wand still in his right hand but all of his composure out the window and he’s scared, he’s so fucking scared.

Every part of him is telling him to call things off, cast the fireworks spell and wish with everything in him that help gets to him sooner than the Gobbler does.

Unfortunately, Jim is not dumb, delusional or naive enough to believe that last part. The last time he heard the Gobbler it was close enough that Jim could hear him breathe, so even if Jim lost it when he began to run, it certainly won’t take long for the creature to find him again. Jim’s only chance to survive unscathed is if he fights, but for the life of him he can’t remember anything useful about the stupid creature.

He remembers reading about its large stature and its leather skin, which made it immune to most spells. Wizards had driven it to near extinction, but that was through the use of traps and the combined forces of numerous wizards and witches. Jim is only one wizard and he has no traps or knowledge of spells that can hunt down bloody Steel Gobblers. 

The only other thing Jim remembers about the Gobbler is its natural magical ability to instill fear in others and that... that explains a whole lot.

Jim sighs and spares a moment to be mad at himself for not remembering this earlier. Jim’s fear is not natural, of course it isn’t. He should have realized this sooner, even though the realization is not of much help since natural or not, Jim is still very much afraid.

He’s trying his very hardest not to be, but it’s so hard. It’s like the darkness is pushing him from all directions, killing every cell of his body, stealing oxygen from Jim’s lungs as it cracks Jim’s ribs until Jim can’t breathe, can’t see, can’t hear; until he can do nothing but lie on the ground and be overcome with an hopeless feeling of pure, unfiltered despair that consumes his soul.

He’s all alone. He’s all alone and he’s always been alone and this is how he’s going to to die. Alone, in the dark with no one there to help him.

The Steel Gobbler is coming for him. Jim can sense him and the aura of terror it transpires. With each step the beast takes, Jim’s distress grows bigger, regardless of how much Jim tries to tamp it down.

Suddenly he’s a baby again. Just recently born and without a father to take care of him. Everyone around him is crying, so Jim cries too. Jump to three years in the future  and Jim’s brother locks in cupboard in a dumb fit of rage. He stays there for three hours before somebody gets him out and develops a fear of the dark in the process. Five years afterwards Jim is eight when he loses control of his broom. He falls and breaks both his legs, screaming the whole time. 

More moments pass in front of Jim's eyes in which for an excruciating amount of seconds, minutes and hours, Jim felt nothing but fear.

Just when the beast is about to get to him, Jim has a moment of clarity. It’s his light at the end of the tunnel, only it’s not that at all because Jim doesn’t see another world with the loved ones he’s lost, nor does he see his life flash before his eyes. Instead, he sees himself and Spock talking at the top of the Astronomy Tower.

He remembers this. It had happened only two weeks after he and Spock got partnered up for their Astronomy Project. They were talking about the stars and the planets they might lead around the universe in their little gravity belt, the conversation having moved from work, technical topics to more fond, romanticized discussion. Spock had a book in his hands, and in this book was a loose piece of paper with a poem transcribed painstakingly by someone with gorgeous handwriting.

Spock had shown him the poem and Jim had thought it to be beautiful. He can no longer remember most of its words, nor who wrote it, but the last lines sticked to his mind for whatever reason and now they burn bright in front of his eyes.

Though my soul may set in darkness, it will rise in perfect light;

I have loved the stars too fondly to be fearful of the night.

At the time, Jim had thought the poem to be a great metaphor for how you should never be afraid of whatever dangers and terrors life might hold in the darkness, for there would always be stars in the form of dreams, happiness and love to inspire and guide people. Now, Jim thinks the last lines can - and should - be applied literally. For Jim hasn’t spent countless hours awake in the dark admiring the stars just to be afraid of the same darkness now. He hasn’t faced numerous dangers to help whoever might be in need and to do what’s right just to cower in fear when the time came to help himself. He didn’t wake up today to fall prey of a beast’s trap and like shit he’s letting that happen.

“I’m not afraid of the dark,” Jim whispers to himself, quietly at first but with more strength as he repeats the words. “I am not afraid of the dark. I refuse to be. If anything, the dark should be afraid of me.”

Part of Jim feels embarrassed at his own corny words, but another, much larger part is now focused on using all the anger in him - and there’s a lot of that - as fuel to make him get up, brush the dirt off himself and start running again.

Jim keeps the crystal firmly in his pocket, unwilling to raise the Gobbler’s attention again, but it’s not like it matters whether or not he has a light to guide him. This time, as he runs, he makes his own path. With both  depulso and  diffindo spells on the tip of his tongue, Jim concentrates what’s rest of his mind in pushing away everything that comes in his way, his energy used on making sure his legs keep moving one after another without any pauses until Jim can see the stands.

The Gobbler’s fear never leaves him. It follows him and every step he takes, feeds on Jim’s thoughts and tries to slow him down like the sticky web of a hardworking spider. It’s always there as the Gobbler itself probably keeps following Jim. It’s like having a thousand knives against his skin, ready to cut but never digging in since, in the end, that’s all fear is. The promise of something bad, the realization that you’re about to suffer, the acknowledgment that nothing is as it should be and you don’t know how to stop it. Only Jim knows. He just has to keep running.

The first thing he sees is a dot of white light in the distance. For all Jim knows, the dot is a trap, created by one of the many creatures living in the forest, set to lure him in. But Jim reckons if he were that, he wouldn’t be able to see it, so he runs towards the light and watches it grow bigger and brighter as he gets closer.

The best part is when he’s finally able to distinguish the shape of the stands. Jim can’t hear anything, but he can see that they’re full of people cheering and clapping as they spot him in the distance. This sight is enough to give him the added strength he needs to sprint, losing the Gobbler from his track for good as he crosses the protecting spells that separate the crowd and the forest.

The noise difference from one place to another is staggering, and Jim falters in his step before he’s able to pick himself up again. He forces himself to smile to the crowd and lets his eyes search for familiar faces out of habit. 

The anger that was keeping him on the move has left his body, evaporated the moment he exited the forest. Now Jim feels... nothing. He knows he should be feeling happiness, pride, relief. He knows that his smile should be real, and that he should be searching for his friend’s faces because he wants to see them, not out of habit. But the emotions don’t come to him, the actions don’t flow naturally and Jim is too exhausted to be able to figure out why.

Since Whatley isn’t there yet, no one from the Ministry comes to Jim’s side. Instead it’s Headmaster Pike, who puts a strong hand on Jim’s shoulder before he leads him to the side.

“You did well, Jim. You did really well,” Pike says, sounding genuinely impressed.

“Yeah?” Jim asks.

He no longer feels the crippling, absolute terror that haunted him inside the forest, although some of it still lingers on him as the only thing Jim can tell he’s feeling. Regardless, Jim had thought with the way he almost got caught by the Gobbler and how he almost gave up, his overall performance would be marked as less than satisfactory. Then again, it’s doubtful that the Ministry was able to keep track of him once he was outside the range of their protective spells. They probably think Jim did a good job simply because he turned up.

“Yeah, kid,” Pike says in a slightly condescending tone. “Azealia almost quit halfway through the task and the only reason she got here was by blind luck. You beat her time by thirty minutes, and I don’t doubt you’ll beat Khan’s as well.”

Jim forces another smile and says, “thank you, sir,” politely before he searches for the nearest exit and heads towards it.

Jim doesn’t think that he did well. He knows now that the fact that he made it to the stands in a decent time is quite impressive and enough to say he did a good job, but that doesn’t fall right with him. If anyone should feel like they did well, it should be Jim’s friends, especially Spock for showing Jim that poem, which was the key to Jim’s recovery after he fell in the dark.

Other than that, Jim was just stubborn. He refused to give up even as pure panic and terror consumed him. Terror that even now still taunts Jim and is the most likely source of Jim’s insecurities and the reason why he couldn’t smile at Pike and mean it, why he isn’t able to feel proud of himself even though he knows he should.

When Jim gets to the exit, his friends are already there, all waiting for him, which is not a surprise at all. What is a surprise is the look on their faces.

They all look so bloody proud of him as they hug him, congratulate him and tell him like he looks like shit, but hot shit, so it’s alright. Jim laughs as shakes his head and lets himself to feel be pulled into warm hug after warm hug. Only then, with his friends smiling at him, does Jim allow himself to feel proud for a moment because he made it without peeing his pants and maybe that’s enough.

Maybe just making his friends proud of him is enough.


	5. What Secrets Does The Past Hold? Ancient Magical Artefacts and Their Stories

It takes Jim awhile to feel like himself after the second task.

It doesn’t take too long before he’s able to feel again, but no matter what he does, he just can’t shake off the sensation that he’s still stuck on a spider’s deadly web. He tries to talk to Bones about it, because talking to Bones always helps, but the words refuse to come out of his mouth.

In the end, all he manages to do is worry Bones without being able to give his friend any answers. He also tries drinking his problems away, thinking he’d be hitting two birds with one stone by loosening his tongue at the same time, but surprisingly that doesn’t work either. It just gives Jim a killer hangover.

It’s only when, about two weeks after the task, Azealia asks him if they can talk that Jim is finally able to free his stupid, stubborn demons from his mind.

“Congratulations on getting first place,” Azealia says after they’ve sat down in one of the stone benches in the Clocktower courtyard. Jim smiles and wishes he had something to compliment her back on. Azealia had gotten third place after Khan took ten more minutes than Jim to get to the stands, and that only happened because Khan had actually fought the Steel Gobbler. And he’d won.

Jim believes the only reason why Khan didn’t get first place was because of all the blood on him, some of it his, but most from other creatures he’d faced in the forest. He’d shown up looking horrible, like he’d been through hell and back. Also quite manly and rugged, but mostly just crazy and psychotic. Certainly not the kind of image the Ministry wanted on the papers next morning with the title ‘WINNER OF THE SECOND TASK IN THE TRIWIZARD TOURNAMENT KILLS EVERYTHING IN THE DARK FOREST WITH HIS BARE HANDS’.

Or something else along those lines. Jim doesn’t actually know if Khan used his hands to bring bloody murder to the forest, he just has very high suspicions.

“You did well too,” Jim says, which isn’t a lie, at least not to him anyway. Getting out of that place hadn’t been easy and Jim felt like anyone who did it without pissing their pants - and going crazy - deserved to be congratulated for it.

“Thank you,” Azealia says, looking away shyly. Jim follows her eyes to see her sister, Atealia, watching them closely from the other side of the courtyard. “Do you still feel it? The Boar’s fear on you?” she asks unexpectedly, making Jim turn to look at her.

He didn’t know the other champions still felt the fear too. He thought he was the only one. “Yes. Do you?”

Azealia nods and bites her lip. “Only at every second of every  putain de day. I just can not shake it off. It is like every time I close my eyes, I can hear it running towards me again.”

“I feel the same way!” Jim says with too much energy considering the grim topic they’re talking about. “It’s like I have this... net over me, and I don’t know how push it away or talk about it, but it’s always there to drag me down.”

“Exactly. It feels like you are still in the dark, back at the forest, does it not?” She asks with the same level of enthusiasm as Jim, which is a lot because Jim is currently as happy as a baby pig in a puddle of mud.

“Yes!”

“Oh, thank you for saying that. I thought I was going crazy,” Azealia says as she gives him a tight hug and an innocent kiss on the cheek before she gets up and brushes the non-existent dirt off her school outfit. “Miss Bullivier told me this sickness would pass soon, but I needed to know someone else felt the same. Thank you, James Kirk.”

“You’re welcome, Azealia Maheux,” Jim says with a genuine smile. He understands her completely and he knows that he should have found similar guts to speak about how he’s been feeling a long time ago.

Truthfully, Jim knows that the only reason why he hasn’t been able to speak to anyone is because he’s deathly afraid he’ll get a rerun of what happened during the first task if he does so. Jim doesn’t wish to live in a lie again, but just the thought of this possibility becoming a reality again was terrifying enough to stun him into silence.

So Jim was afraid, maybe because he was still under the effect of the Gobbler’s magic, maybe because he is a wuss. It’s irrelevant why. The only thing that matters is that he wasn’t able to form the words he needed to say, not until somebody else told him what he’s feeling and like a breath of fresh air after months spent in a moldy dungeon, Jim discovers the truth hidden in his own mind.

After that, breaking from the shackles of insecurity and self-doubt is not easy, but it’s not difficult either. It just is. Some things have to be done regardless of how you feels towards them, and even though Jim definitely wants to feel like his old-self again, he knows that’s not a choice he can make. It’s simply something he can let happen.

Most people don’t notice the change in Jim’s behavior from normal Jim to freaked rabbit and vice-versa. This is because Jim is good at hiding his real emotions and because he didn’t give them enough time to notice in the first place. However some do notice, Bones being the prime example, but since he’s Bones, he doesn’t count. The other person who notices is Spock.

This doesn’t come as a surprise to Jim. He’s slowly learning to his immense horror that Spock is able to read him like an open book and that the only reason why he doesn’t let it on is because he wishes not to. Jim is not used to this. He’s used to the reverse situation, where other people’s motives are as clear as day to him and he’s the one not mentioning he knows what’s up only because he doesn’t wish to. Not that he can do that to Spock.

Spock is not an open book; he’s a rare, limited edition encyclopedia, kept away in the well-protected corridors of a hidden library accessible only of those who are worthy, and even then only for certain durations of time and on specific dates. Jim entertains the thought of one day becoming the librarian, and then quickly throws away the metaphor as he realizes how dumb and creepy it sounds.

Spock isn’t a book. He’s Spock. Tall and broad-chested, fan of a horrible bowl-haircut, extremely technical and so smart he can put anyone to shame. One day he’s going to become the Minister of Magic, not because he particularly fancies to, but because he’s the best one for the job. And Jim will be there, by his side, supporting him as a friend and maybe something else, if Jim ever acknowledges out loud the crush that’s becoming something bigger far too quickly.

“Jim.” The focus of Jim’s thoughts calls when he spots Jim entering the Great Hall after his talk with Azealia. Jim stops and watches his friend walk towards him. “Do you have Quidditch practice this evening?”

“No, Sulu has only one practice session a week scheduled since we’ve already played all the games for this term. Why do you ask?”

“We have not worked in our Astronomy Project for quite some time. I was wondering whether you were interested in continuing our work this evening,” Spock asks in a calm tone. Once upon a time, Jim would have labeled said tone as indifferent, but he knows now that that’s just how Spock is. Patient, calm, sometimes a bit cold, but not indifferent. 

“Sounds perfect,” he replies, not bothering to hold back a smile. The corners of Spock’s mouth curve upwards in reciprocation, an action that is not on the same level as Jim’s goofy, terribly in love smile but is damn close for Spock’s standards.

Jim feels himself blush and wonders how he let himself fall in love like this. It’s almost pathetic. One day Jim was walking on solid ground, alone but unafraid, ready to take on the world if he had to under the knowledge that that was the only thing he could possibly do, and now he’s here... Still walking on solid ground, but nearing a cliff at impossible speeds in a broken broom that won’t stop and he’s not alone, but he’s not accompanied either.

\------------//------------

“I never got to thank you properly for talking to Uhura,” Jim says when he gets to the top floor of the Astronomy Tower, slightly out of breath from jogging there after he noticed Spock was gone from the Great Hall before Jim had even finished dinner. They hadn’t agreed on a specific time for when they should meet - they never seem to, for some reason - but Jim felt like he was letting Spock down every time he arrived late.

Which happened often. Every time they arranged to meet for work, actually. Jim was working on it.

Spock lifts his head but doesn’t say anything as he waits for Jim to continue. He already all of his stuff spread on the floor, arranged neatly around him in a circle for easy access. He’s also sitting on a tiny, handmade quilt, whose origins are unknown to Jim but certainly leave him wishing he had one as well. March or not, Spring time took a while in arriving to Scotland.

“Uhura hasn’t exactly been my biggest fan here at Hogwarts for the past seven years. There was an accident during second year--”

“Where you blew thirty Stinky Sticky Icky Moncherell Bombs in the courtyard, two metres away from where Uhura and a group of her friends were sat. It took Uhura two months to get her hair back to its normal colour and her skin had a purplish hue for the next five months,” Spock says in such a matter of fact voice that Jim has to look away for a second as he scratches the back of his neck and grins sheepishly. “It was a memorable event.”

“It was an  accident . One that I was never forgiven for, which I totally get. I would have been pissed too if somebody did that to me and we never got along very well anyway, not until you talked to her.” Jim pauses, taking a deep breath and closing his eyes for a second as he puts together the next words he wants to say. He’s not the best with being honest about his feelings. “I don’t know what you said to get her to help me with that first clue, but I’m grateful you did it, Spock. Uhura is great, Bones really likes her and she and I would never have started to get along if you hadn’t put in a good word.”

“You are most welcome, Jim, although I must inform you that you are mistaken. While I did talk to Uhura about the first clue, I did not have to ask her for help, nor, as you implied, was she was unwilling to do so. All I did was mention that you had received your clue and immediately Uhura offered her help. While she is not, as you said, your biggest fan, I do not believe Uhura has harbored any malicious feelings towards you since last year.”

“What? Why? What happened last year?” Jim asks. Just at the beginning of this school year, Uhura had treated him like she’d always treated him: with cold, sharp indifference that wasn’t meant to be mean but definitely never felt like a warm greeting either.

“The accident in the Potions classroom, in which Hamilton's cauldron full of  Death’s Draught blew up unexpectedly. You were the first to take action in getting everyone to safety, and the last one to leave the room after you ensured no one else was there.”

Jim’s mind takes him back to that day easily, such memories are hard to forget after all. The smoke had been the worst part; it burned its way down his throat and every lungful took - no,  dragged \- him a step closer to death. Jim had almost passed out from the effort of carrying everyone outside while trying his best not to breathe and avoid the nasty puddles on the floor. One touch of  Death’s Draught and it’s goodbye limbs, hello necrosis. If, at the time the cauldron exploded, everyone hadn’t been on the other side of the classroom listening to Professor Boggins, they would have all died.

As it was, everyone but Jim - who had spend one month in the hospital wing cleaning his lungs - suffered only minor injuries. And this everyone, as Jim can recall, doesn’t include Uhura, who had dropped Potions earlier that year.

“No, but,” Spock hesitates before he continues, giving Jim the time to sit next to him on the cold floor. He looks like he’s measuring the words, trying to make sure they are right ones before he says them. Finally, after a quick glance at Jim’s face, Spock continues what he was saying, “I was.”

Jim lets out a little ‘ahh...’ and nods. That explains it then. Spock is Uhura’s friend and has been for a really long time, so Jim helping him must have changed Uhura’s opinion of him. Bit silly, all things considered, as Jim had helped plenty of people over the years and he didn’t strike Uhura has someone who favorited her friends. Jim had helped Spock like he’d helped everyone else, nothing special about it.

Spock coughs to break the silence that had ushered into the room uninvited. There is a blush decorating his cheeks that indicates he’s embarrassed, which is another silly thing - there is nothing to be embarrassed of in getting help when needed - but not one Jim’s going to call him out on since the times he gets to see Spock blush are rare, welcomed sights and a blushing Spock is almost too cute for words. The pink hue extends from the sides of his nose to the tip of his ears and Spock always looks away stoically when it happens, as if he can stop his face from betraying him by looking tall, dark and handsome.

“The final task,” Spock finally says, still looking out the window and pointedly avoiding Jim’s eyes, “do you have any idea what it will be?”

Jim sighs and leans back on his elbows. “Nope. I talked to Whatley the other day to see if I could get him to budge and tell me something, but he didn’t even waver. ‘ You will receive no clue for the final task Mr. Kirk, and it is very inconsiderate of you to ask me for one when you know your fellow Champions have received nothing as well .’” Jim’s impersonation of Whatley leaves a lot to be desired, he just can’t seem to get the pompous ass with confidence issues and a boner for the Ministry part right, but it does its trick.

And by that what its meant is that it gets a small laugh from Spock. Jim memorizes the moment in all of its flawed perfection and then locks it away in a safe compartment in his mind because Spock doesn’t laugh a lot, hell he barely even smiles, and so every time he does it in front of Jim is like seeing an unique flower blossom or finding out that one of Nostradamus previsions came true.

They get back to work after that as Jim lets the moment slip away quietly. Even though his eyes and his mind are focused on the papers in front of him and the words written on them, every so often Jim’s thoughts stray to Spock, followed closely by Jim’s eyes.

Jim has a big crush, he knows that, but he doesn’t know if that’s good or bad, if it’d be alright if he told Spock about it. He’s never seen Spock with a girl, that must mean something, right? And before Jim, Spock didn’t have any friends except for Uhura. Sure, something between the two of them might have happened over the years behind closed doors, but that doesn’t mean Spock is exclusively into girls.

Jim shakes his head. Who’s he kidding? Spock is probably as straight as his pine wand like the rest of the magical community, including the people who aren’t straight but are too afraid of what might happen to them if they came out publicly. Not that Jim blames them, it’s hard to not feel afraid about coming out as gay when there are people still having tiffs over whether or not muggle-born wizards should be allowed to attend Hogwarts.

People are dicks, Jim thinks, and love is far too much sand for his pickup truck. Better to just focus on the Astronomy project like he should already be doing as their deadline is in two months and they've still got a long trek through the stars ahead.

About twenty minutes in, Spock lifts his head up and looks at the door with attentive eyes. “Did you hear that?” he asks and Jim is about to reply ‘no’ when he hears it. A faint sound of scratching on stone, mixed with a laboured breathing and the occasional sound of feet shuffling on the floor.

Jim gets up and goes to the door, leaning against the stone railing to look down. Spock does the same.

“It’s Khan,” Jim whispers as he looks at the figure moving around the bottom floor of the tower. Khan is wearing is usual all black attire and running his hands through the blocks of stone as he examines them. “I can’t believe he’s still looking for something, for Merlin’s beard, it’s been months.”

Spock hums in agreement. They had thought that with Khan sneaking around all the time it wouldn’t take him long to find whatever it is he wants, but obviously they’d been wrong. The all thing puts Jim ill at ease, what could possibly be so important that Khan would search for it continuously for six months? For the first time since he noticed Khan’s sneaky habits, Jim wonders if he should tell to Headmaster Pike about them. 

Not that there’s much he can say besides Khan’s been looking around for something since he got to Hogwarts.  What is he looking for? Dunno.  Why is he doing it? Beats me.  What does he plan to do when he finds what he wants? Mystery. Is he harmful? Pike would ask and Jim would shake his head, say ‘Not as far as I know, sir’ because even though he knows Khan isn’t up to anything good, he doesn’t know for sure and he won’t throw a man under the bus like that.

“Do you think we should go talk to him?” Jim finds himself asking. Not wanting to tell Pike about this doesn’t mean he can’t try to do something.

“And say what, Jim? We do not know his intentions, what he is looking for, what he plans to do--”

“Yeah, yeah but  still . He’s all sneaky, and have you noticed how everyone else seems to be scared of him? Even the guys that follow him around look uneasy in his company. He’s gotta be up to something shifty. We could go down there, try to scare him by puffing our chests and beating them repeatedly with our fists.”

Spock gives him a look.

“Well, talking hasn’t done us much good so far, has it?” Jim asks, indignation bubbling up at the way Spock is looking at him like he just said the most ridiculous thing ever. 

The look persists and Jim rubs his eyes. Maybe he did say the most ridiculous thing ever, he’s too tired to be to tell anymore. Lately his life has been on an unpredictable roller coaster of emotions, ranging from his crush - the word still tastes wrong in his mouth, sometimes because it’s too serious but other times because it’s not serious enough - on Spock, studying for their end of year exams, Quidditch and the freaking Tournament. Jim’s not weak, but he knows he needs a good night’s sleep away from everything troubling him before he can say he’s all good and proper again.

Spock meets his gaze with a touch of fondness in his eyes and a small smile playing in his lips. He looks like he knows something Jim doesn’t and is finding it enjoyable to wait and watch as Jim tries to figure it out too. Jim wishes Spock wasn’t so mysterious, but then again, a not mysterious Spock isn’t Spock at all.

After too much time looking in each other’s eyes than is socially acceptable, Spock leans away from the stone railing and goes back inside the room they’d been in. “Khan is gone.”

Jim nods even though Spock can longer see him, dumbfounded for a second. He’d been so lost looking at Spock that he’d completely forgotten about Khan. Damn, if Bones were there right now he’d been giving him one of his trademark looks that says ‘you are a dumbass, James Kirk’ without the need of any words.

They slip back into a rhythm of looking out their telescopes and scrambling down notes with ease, but Jim’s heart, mind and body aren’t in it and not too long after he finds himself nodding off. A blink of his eyes that lasts too long, an involuntarily nod that makes him snap his head back as he catches himself, a tilt towards the wall so he doesn’t need to hold his upper body upright for just a small second as he rests.

The next thing Jim knows, he’s in his bed, lying comfortably beneath two heavy blankets. His wand and his tie are on his bedside table, his shoes next to his bed and his white shirt most likely in his trunk, substituted by Jim’s old sweater of his favorite Quidditch team, the Galileo Seven.

Jim smiles and lets himself be lulled to sleep again.

He wakes up next morning feeling refreshed and ready to take on a new day, but then his memories from last night get ahold of him and he decides to stay in bed instead of going out. He doesn’t sleep much, but he does get the perfect opportunity to think about everything that has happened recently and everything that will most likely happen, which helps him sort his thoughts into neat compartments so they’re no longer stumbling around Jim’s mind all the time.

He doesn’t think about Spock, not because it’s too difficult or painful, but because Jim has decided to try to forget the way his heart does these funny, little twists every time he sees his close friend. It’s just easier that way. Nothing between them could ever happen and if Jim doesn’t think about it, then his feelings are bound to go way. They have to.

After spending Saturday in bed, time seems to speed up. March goes by in a breeze and Easter vacation doesn’t happen as Jim and nearly everyone else in his year stays at school to study. The pressure is starting to get to some people; it makes them jittery and snap unexpectedly every so often when something doesn’t go the way they planned. Jim tries to be understanding. He’s not one to stress about school, but he knows what it is like to have six papers due the next week. Nevertheless it’s hard not to punch some people in the face when they start yelling and acting like outraged ostriches in the middle of the Great Hall.

Luckily, Bones doesn’t have any of Jim’s qualms in that department.

April and May are spent in the same haze of studying, yelling, beating their bodies to the ground for Quidditch and meeting up past bedtime in the kitchen once a week to share the latest gossip and catch up on missed chats. Everyone always shows up, including Spock, who disdains small talk and gossip but finds himself participating in the superficial banter anyway.

Jim’s feelings don’t go away, but he’s too busy not thinking about them to notice.

\------------//------------

The third task is scheduled on a Friday, near the beginning of June.

Classes have been cancelled and Jim is rushed to breakfast under the notice that he either gets there in ten minutes, or he’s not eating anything at all. His bed hair is horrible and his clothes look like a trampled, smelly mess because he didn’t have enough time to find anything clean after he was pushed out of bed. His eyes are bloodshot from having spent the night turning around in his bed as he worried himself silly over the task, making his overall look similar to one of a good-looking zombie. Nobody comments. Jim is grateful.

Without much hope, Jim still has his fingers crossed for an easy task and not a spirit crusher, emotions mixer, body breaker event like the last two.

At the beginning of the year, he’d been crazy excited about the Tournament, and while there is still excitement in his arteries helping to pump his blood, it’s just not at the same level as it used to be. It’s hard to feel like he used back when he didn’t know what to expect from the Tournament. Now that he knows it’s full of tiresome, dangerous tasks that will turn his brain to poo and mess up with his last threads of sanity, Jim just wants to get this over with.

Preferably win, but he’s also down with second place as long as he kicks Khan’s ass.

Ok, who’s he kidding, Jim wants to win. He’s tired, grumpy and stressed out about the million things he needs to do before the year finishes, but everyone in his school is rooting for him and by Godric Gryffindor’s hat, Jim wants to make them proud.

He wants to have his face on a giant painting, the Triwizard Cup in a fancy glass display and stories of his brilliant victory travelling around the corridors of Hogwarts for years to come. He wants it and he’s going to do everything in his power to get it.

“Everyone, wish me luck,” Jim says to the table at large as he gets up. He receives a wave of cheers and encouraging shouts from every direction. Like an astronaut after a successful mission that would have killed everyone on his team if it hadn’t been for said astronaut's amazing skills, Jim smiles.

Since he’s expecting to be led outside to wherever the third task is being held by Whatley or some other Ministry official, Jim is surprised when he’s told to stay in the Great Hall and wait for everyone else to clear out.

They look like a sea of lost tuna, Jim thinks in amusement as he watches everyone getting kicked out of castle and being sent to Quidditch pitch. By the time the Great Hall is cleared there are still people strolling down the stairs outside the room, but besides them, Jim is alone.

A polite cough from somewhere behind him tells him he’s wrong on that respect.

“Professor Ricino,” Jim says, a smile forming of its own volition as he spots his favourite teacher.

“Mister Kirk. I came to wish you good luck before your final task.”

“Thank you, Professor.” A small smile spreads through Ricino’s face. There’s this look of fond affection in his eyes that makes Jim’s smile widen when he realizes it was caused by him.

“I never told you this, Mister Kirk, but you have always been one of my favourite students. You and Mister Spock. You’re both quite different, but quite brilliant as well, and whatever future career you might choose, please know that you can both expect a recommendation letter from me,” he says, making Jim blush in embarrassment.

Taking compliments that actually mean something from someone important to him has never been one of his strong points.

“I am also quite glad to see you two get along so well. I knew you two would be  very good friends, and it’s wonderful to see Mister Spock finally be social with others.” The way Ricino rolls his first words on his tongue while looking at Jim straight in the eye and even winking at the end hints to a deeper knowledge of Jim’s true feelings towards Spock. 

This isn’t the least bit shocking. Professor Ricino is the sort of person who just  knows everything about you before you do. He says it’s because of his affinity with the stars, but Jim reckons it’s just many years as a professor and a heightened sense of empathy even if by wizard standards.

Nevertheless, Jim isn’t, obviously, fully sure that a great love story is what his professor is hitting at with his subtle wink and tone of voice, which is how he finds the next words tumbling out of his mouth, “Is that why you put us together, professor?”

Ricino chuckles. “The potential of two great minds working together is far bigger than the potential of just one great mind. I look forward to seeing your project presentation next week.” And with that mysterious reply that doesn’t actually answer Jim’s question because straight forward answers are so démodé, Ricino turns to the door and leaves.

Jim glares at the retreating figure but ends up shrugging and going back to looking out the window after a couple of seconds. He doesn’t care all that much about what Ricino thinks is going on between him and Spock since, as Jim knows quite well, all he and Spock have going on is friendship. Blue balling, heavily distracting, stress inducing friendship.

Not that Jim has gotten to the ‘my dreams are my biggest enemies’ part of his ‘we are friends but I wish we were something more’ adventure. No no, he’s still very much in the ‘hey can we smash our faces together and hold hands while walking and spend whole nights awake talking and looking at the stars’ because, and as incredulous as this might sound, Jim is a fan of romance. Also, Spock has a terrific mouth.

Jim ‘s everie about Spock’s mouth is broken by Mister Walt Whatley, who has the subtlety of a blind elephant in a room full of china plate.

“Oh how wonderful, Mister Kirk is already here. We can start then.”

Standing next to Whatley are the two other champions, Azealia and Khan, two Ministry officials Jim hasn’t seen before and three reporters trailing behind them.

“As you know, this is your third and final task. You’ll be given a score in accordance to how you perform, which means that this is still anyone’s game.” Whatley says with enough fake cheer to make Jim want to puke a little. He doesn’t know why he hates the guy so much, just that there’s something about him and his weird enthusiasm that makes him feel sick.

“Now for this task, a treasure hunt has been set up. We have hidden ten artefacts throughout the castle, of which you need to find at least five to win. You’ll be given a clue that will lead you to the first artefact, which will in turn, when found, give you a clue to find another artefact and so on and so on until you have the five you need,” a few grasshoppers fly as Whatley speaks, “then, and only then, you will turn back and go to the Quidditch Pitch, where everyone is waiting. The first person to get there with five artefacts wins. Understood?”

“Are we allowed to steal each other’s artefacts?” Azealia asks after a beat, voicing the question they are all thinking.

Whatley grins, slowly and with too much teeth like a vicious ape. “Attacking each other is completely off limits, but, of course, what the eyes don’t see, the mouth doesn’t tell,” he taps the side of his head with his finger to indicate that he’s talking about his eyes, which will be in the Quidditch Pitch alongside the rest of Whatley for the duration of the task.

Everyone nods. Jim has the urge to punch the fat balloon in the face.

He’s not surprised at all to hear that fighting is fair game, after all a treasure hunt isn’t very exciting and wouldn’t give the Ministry the press they want. Not that it would be very good press if the actual truth came out, but there’s nothing to worry about there since that will never happen. There will be mentions of daring courage and cunning strategies, obviously, and deep down everyone will know what really happened, but all they’ll talk about is what the Ministry wants them to talk about.

Jim has to hand it to them. The Ministry wanted to start a new era where they’re the strong ones and they’re actually doing it. The most bitter part is to know that they’re doing it all through the hands of guys like Whatley, who look all harmless and dimwitted until their fangs come out.

It doesn’t make Jim feel better to see Khan smiling like he’s just been handed the best Christmas gift ever. Damn, what Jim would give to be inside his mind and figure out what the heck he’s playing at. It’d make hating him far easier.

As it is, Jim feels a little bit dumb for wanting to punch Khan, but only a little bit.

“Now, each of you will receive a different first clue so you don’t run off in the same direction yet.” Whatley says as he gives each of them a piece of paper. “Good luck.”

He flashes the three of them a smile that’s probably meant to be reassuring and warm, but comes out as vapid and phony instead. Jim pays him no mind as he pockets his paper and run towards the doors. He’s smart enough to resist the temptation of checking his paper while he’s still next to the other champions, so he goes on the search of an empty room where he can do it alone.

This turns out to be a remarkably easy job since the castle has been fully vacated, making every room an empty room.

The more you search, the less you see

Beneath the torches of old destiny

Find your light, find your fate

In the Old Man’s gate

Ah, riddles. How wonderful. As if Jim hasn’t had enough with riddles to last him a bloody lifetime.

Old Man’s gate? What Old Man’s gate? There are no gates at Hogwarts except for the one at the entrance of the school grounds, much less gates belonging to old men. 

Jim closes his eyes and tries to think harder. He knows the castle better than he knows himself, but that won’t help him this time. The other Champions don’t know Hogwarts very well, so the answer to any of the riddles can’t be something complex that only someone who knows Hogwarts back and forward can answer. It has to be something more obvious like maybe a statue or a...

“Painting,” he whispers to himself before he runs out the door.

Jim has his eyes locked on the walls above him as he runs into the Grand Staircase, which is how he doesn’t notice the person running in his direction until they’re crashing loudly into each other like a pair of confused, half-blind seagulls.

“Sorry, I didn’t see where I was going...” Jim begins to say, stopping when he notices who he crashed into. “Spock?”

“Jim,” Spock breathes out and thank Merlin Jim’s mind is too busy to focus on just one thing right now, otherwise the way Spock said his name, as if it were ambrosia on his lips, would definitely have made him uncomfortable in a good, hot, sexually frustrating way.

“What are you doing here?” he asks.

“I came to help you.” Jim tries to interrupt him and say something noble about rules and how this is his task alone to endure, but Spock doesn’t give him a chance to speak as he continues, “Atealia has joined her sister. It would be unfair for you to complete this task alone.”

“What about Khan? Is he getting outside help too?”

Spock shrugs.

Well. That’s decided then.

Jim quickly recaps what Whatley told him about the task so that Spock is up to speed. He finishes speaking by handing Spock the riddle so he can take a closer look and saying, “We’re looking for the Old Man’s gate and I think...”

“Old Man? What’chu lookin’ for Old Man for?”

In unison, Jim and Spock both turn around to look at a painting a few metres above them of an old lady with a glass eyeball, an impressive collection of cats and a dusty fireplace that hasn’t seen a proper fire in years.

“He has something that we need,” Spock says.

“Yeh?” the old lady glares at them with enough hate and viciousness to kill an elephant. Jim limits himself to simply staring back while Spock enters into glare mood. After a moment, she relaxes, pleased with whatever she’s found while glaring at them. “He’s on the third floor in the Armour Gallery. Best of luck, boys.”

They don’t need to hear another word.

The Armour Gallery is a corridor near the Trophy Room. It has enough suits of armour to make a small army, a collection of dusty torches not currently lit and only one painting of, shockingly, an old man next to a small iron gate.

“I thought there was only going to be one of you,” the Old Man says suspiciously.

They both shrug. The Old Man shrugs as well after a couple of seconds.

Paintings in general, especially the ones with old people, don’t care about anything.

“Grab it and take it. Clue’s at the bottom.” The Old Man points to a golden chalice encrusted with various jewels inside the painting.

Jim frowns as he slips one of his hands inside the frame for a second. The hand stops existing in the real world, grabs the chalice with shaky fingers and comes back to the comforting world of mortals and a bunch of undead not quickly enough for Jim’s liking.

His hand, which now feels more like a ghost limb than a real one, drops the chalice by accident. Spock’s quick reflexes manage to catch it just in time before it breaks into various pieces on the floor. He puts the chalice back in Jim’s hands carefully, holding them for an intimate second before he steps away.

“I will go find us a bag.”

Jim nods and watches as Spock strides into the Trophy Room, momentarily dumbfounded by the simple fact that he doesn’t remember ever being touched by Spock like that. It’s ridiculous, he’s ridiculous and he needs to get a grip, but tell that to every part of him that is currently too busy noticing how hot Spock’s hands felt to think about anything else.

Only when he can hear Spock coming back, does he turn the chalice upside down. At the bottom, where the Old Man said it’d be, is the next clue, if you can call it a clue that is.

It’s mostly just a badly etched drawing of what looks like a steaming cauldron, but might also be a really fat jellyfish.

“Potions classroom?” Jim asks as he gives Spock the chalice and Spock gives him the leather bag he found.

“I think so, yes. Unless this mark here is a beak and we’re looking at a very fat duck.”

“Really? I thought it looked like a jellyfish.”

They jog to the Potions classroom so as to not waste any time. Jim suspects that finding the next artefact won’t be as easy as finding the chalice. That’d be too simple.

Jim’s assumption turns out to be correct, but not for the reasons he’s thinking of as he and Spock go down the slippery steps that give entrance to the dungeons.

\------------//------------

“Can you smell something?” Jim asks.

“I can smell many things, Jim,” Spock’s reply earns him a light kick on the leg, “to which are you referring?

Jim wrinkles his nose. They’re in the main corridor heading towards the Potions classroom and taking a path Jim has used countless times before. He knows all the other corridors and rooms in the dungeons well from years of exploring even though, by principle, he dislikes the place and finds the misty air and the constantly clammy walls disconcerting. Everything looks as it should, which is to say it looks creepy and suffocating, but there’s still something else that doesn’t feel right. Not a smell exactly, just something in the air, something that tastes too sweet, enters through his pores and makes Jim long for a bed, something--

“It’s gunpowder.” Spock doesn’t need another moment to think or say anything else. He grabs Jim’s arm tightly and pulls them both into the room closest to them, a potions cupboard.

Spock has just enough time to put a protective spell on the door before a loud explosion blows to pieces everything outside their little room.

They both fall against the back shelf full of various assortments and bottles from the strength of the explosion, knocking some potions to the floor in the process. Jim is up as soon as the ringing in his ears disappears.

“What the fuck was that? We’re supposed to fight each other, not kill each other and destroy the castle while we’re at it.” Jim grabs Spock’s hand and pulls him up, cleaning the dust off his Ravenclaw polo and fixing his hair on automatic mode. “Come on. Let’s go get whoever tried to fuck us.”

With his wand on his right hand, Spock by his left side, Jim feels safe and untouchable.

Maybe this can explain why, when he sees two bodies lying on the floor at the end of the corridor, his first instinct isn’t to hit the person running away in the direction of the Viaduct staircase, but to rush towards the figures on the ground.

“Shit,” he says when he notices the small pool of blood on the ground next to the bodies of the Azealia and Atealia, “what the fuck happened?”

Spock kneels down beside the twins and starts checking for wounds at the same time as Jim casts a spell to clear away the dust. There is debris everywhere, huge pieces of rock just lying on the floor around them like pulling them off the walls hadn’t been any trouble at all. Jim takes a quick look around in the search for more death traps, but besides a steaming hole on the ground a couple of metres away from them where the explosion had been set off, nothing looks too dangerous.

“James Kirk, how I am glad to see you,” Azealia says. She tries to smile, but a flash of pain has her closing her eyes and gritting her teeth. Jim looks down to see Spock murmuring a spell with the tip of his wand pressed against a wound in her hip.

Atealia grabs her sister’s hand and tries to get closer to her even though she can’t really move. She doesn’t look as bad as Azealia, mostly just shaken and bruised. Jim goes to her side and helps her move a little bit closer to her twin, winning a brilliant smile in return.

“What happened?” he asks again, this time more quietly as Spock continues to bandage up Azealia.

“It was Khan. We thought he was trying to steal our artefact,” she says as she takes out a tiny music box from her pocket, “but he only wanted to fight. We were winning until the fils de pute  set off the explosion.” 

Jim frowns and looks over at Spock, whose face contorts into a similar frown of confusion before he returns to his task, leaving Jim to figure this out.

If Khan didn’t try to take the twins’ artefact it makes no sense that he would just randomly decide to attack them, unless he has some ulterior motive none of them know about, which Jim certainly wouldn’t put past him. But if that’s the case, then they might all be the targets of a murdering madman.

“Spock, we have to get them out of here.”

Spock looks over at him, sees the determination, anger and a hint of fear in Jim’s face and nods. He leans forward so he can lift Azealia, but she stops him with a tight grip on his wrist.

“No, you have to go stop him,” Azealia says, glaring at Spock who is still trying to lift her before she looks at Jim. “He’s been looking for something, and I think he is close to finding it. He fought us so we would not be in his way. If you let him go now, he is going to find what he wants.”

“Then let him find it, who gives a shit?” Jim throws his hands in the air. He can’t believe they’re actually wasting time talking about Khan’s Great Search.

Azealia glares at him like he’s dumber than a rock. “Do you really think that that stupid  taureau  would waste months searching for something if that something was not incredibly dangerous and powerful?”

Jim tries to glare back, but he has to admit that she has a point. “Do you know what he wants?”

“No, but I know it is not good. One of the girls has been in their ship and saw his room. She said that he has a trunk full of cursed objects.”

Jim lets the implications of her words sink in. Cursed objects are not only illegal and incredibly expensive, but also hard to come by. Anyone who has a trunk full of them has to be not just crazy, but extremely dedicated to the Dark Arts too, which would explain how Khan managed to blow up half the dungeons.

With a sigh and an already decided mind, he gets up. “Stay with them, Spock. I’ll go stop--”

Spock gets up abruptly and interrupts him with complete disregard for what Jim’s saying. “No.”

“No?”

“I can not let you do this alone, Jim.”

There’s a faint red blush on his cheeks, but Jim is unable to focus on this lovely detail when Spock is looking at him with such determination in his eyes.

Jim doesn’t know what to make of Spock looking at him like leaving Jim would kill him. He doesn’t know what to say to properly express how much Spock’s stubbornness both annoys and charms him. He doesn’t know how to say ‘no you can’t go, because if something happens to you I would never forgive myself’ without feeling like a selfish tit. Instead all he does is nod and promise himself he won’t let anything happen to Spock.

“Just go, you two. We’ll be fine,” Atealia says.

“We’ll stop by the Hospital Wing and get someone to come down here,” Jim promises. The twins smile, a calm look on their faces even though they must both still be in pain. The explosion caught them head-on; they survived at the hands of luck and their excellent reflexes.

They take the Viaduct staircase as quickly as they can, but by the time they reach the upper steps Khan has long since gone. It’s difficult to focus one eye on the right and another on the left, but Jim tries anyway in the case that Khan is hiding somewhere and waiting for them.

They don’t have any clues where Khan might have run off to, which leaves them walking around aimlessly as quietly as possible until the silence gets to Jim.

“What are the odds though? An incredibly powerful and dangerous magical artefact is hidden at Hogwarts and no one but Khan knows about it? I mean seriously, how did this happen?” Jim asks too loudly. He moves his hands hazardly as he speaks to relieve pent-up energy.

He’s been thinking about their current situation for some time now and the more he does so, the more ridiculous the whole situation feels.

He doesn’t doubt Azealia’s words. Khan is looking for something big and nobody can question that, but old legends are pretty popular at Hogwarts and they’d already researched most of them. Jim finds it hard to believe that there’s a relic hidden in the castle that no one seems knows about.

“Fifty-three point two per cent,” Spock says after a couple of seconds of silent thinking.

Jim’s eyebrows fly up as he fails to hide how impressed he feels at Spock’s calculations. He doesn’t know if the number is real, but he has a feeling that since it’s Spock, the percentage is based on at least a couple of accountable facts.

Spock looks over at him and if what’s on his face isn’t a smirk then Jim’s middle name isn’t Tiberius.

“Hogwarts is home to many legends. Many mythical creatures, lost treasures and ageless maps are rumoured to be hidden in these hallways. The most common rumours are the ones about lost magical objects of great power. It is not so bizarre for Khan to have discovered a rumour with a hint of truth behind it and decided to follow it.”

“Yes, but why Khan? How?”

Spock purses his lips. He doesn’t have an answer for either of those questions, which obviously annoys him. Spock, very much like Jim, likes to be on top of this game and if there’s something neither of them are right now, it’s exactly that.

Jim is about to make a comment on all the hours they wasted trying to figure out what Khan was looking for when the sound of running feet in the corridor to their right reaches his ears.

He and Spock share a look that says more than words can and then they’re both running with their wands raised, ready to knock out Khan the second they see him.

Only that’s very hard to do, see, when the person you’re trying to knock out sends you flying across the floor before you even see him.

Jim flips a couple of times as Khan’s spell takes over control of his body, but other than a couple light bruises and a headache, he’s none worse for the wear by the time he can lift his head up and cast a small  expelliarmus that misses its target. Spock is in the same situation, getting up with a grunt but no broken bones or visible wounds. There’s no time to let out a sigh of relief before Khan’s attacking them again.

The ensuing duel is a mix of running for protection, firing all possible spells while hiding behind a doorway, and swearing. Lots and lots of swearing, cursing and muttering death threats against Khan.

The slandering mostly comes from Jim. It helps him ignore the pain as he inhales deeply and tries to figure out what he wants to hit Khan with next.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck! Fuck everything and everyone who’s ever lived.”

His fingers are shaking, too much adrenaline or maybe that’s his body’s way of dealing with the fact that he’s getting showered on with broken rock from all of Khan’s badly aimed spells. 

Of course, Jim prefers a situation the walls are the ones getting hit instead of him, definitely, but a fifty kilos piece of cobblestone aimed at his chest not only hurts a whole fucking lot, but also makes it clear that Jim has to do something drastic soon or he’s going to die bruised and crippled under the rubble.

“Spock!” He shouts, getting the attention of his friend who’s hiding on a doorway opposite his. Spock’s eyes look a little frantic, but other than that he looks like the same old Spock; calm, concentrated and not half as broken as Jim. “I’m moving in closer. It’s the only way.”

Spock shakes his head as Jim nods his. Spock moves on to make ‘abort’ signals with his hands and Jim takes a step forward. Spock looks like he’s about to have an aneurysm caused by Jim’s lack of brain and takes a step forward as well. Jim runs.

It’s shitty of him, he knows that. He and Spock are in this together, as Spock had shown him multiple times over the course of the past couple of months when he’d stuck to Jim’s side through and through. But that’s the thing; as much as Jim wants Spock there by his side - and Merlin knows he wants that stupidly bad - he can’t just let Spock risk his life for him.

As much he hates to admit it, Khan is better than them. He’s faster, stronger and Jim has barely gotten so much as a glance at him, much less an actual hit, since their duel started. And this is all without whatever super, crazy death object he’s trying to find.

Azealia is right. They have to do something now because they sure as dicks won’t get a chance later.

So Jim runs, and maybe it’s the surprise factor, maybe it’s something else entirely, but something in Khan makes him run as well when he sees Jim sprinting towards him. Just like that a game of cat and mouse begins, only Jim’s not that sure he’s the cat.

He distantly hears Spock running after them, but he’s barely paying any attention to that, far more focused on trying to hit Khan with anything while dodging all of Khan’s owns spells, which look far more deadly than Jim’s  Redactum Skullus , before anything else happens.

And then that ‘anything else’ obviously happens and it’s in the form of Khan letting out a shout of joy and speeding towards a large stone statue of some old king. In a quick swoop, Khan takes the statue’s crown from his head and watches in pure adoration as it turns to gold in his hands.

At the same time, Jim and Spock both cast a spell and aim it at Khan’s now easy-to-hit form, but with a flick of his wand, Khan cancels them both without even looking up. Only after he’s gazed at the crown for a couple more seconds does he glance up and the look on his face... It’s a cross between completely fucking crazy, so-in-control-all-of-my-cells-fully-obey-me and extreme joy. Jim has never seen anything like it. Not even the lunatics at Azkaban look as terrifying as Khan at that exact moment.

Jim casts a quick  expelliarmus without much hope. Khan flicks his wand again and the spell disappears. He’s still grinning, Jim notes. At least thirty seconds have passed since he found the crown and the motherfucker is still grinning while Jim tries his best to ignore the fact that he has at least three cracked ribs. 

Mom is right. Wizards are bloody bonkers.

Khan puts the crown on his head. The metal shines bright purple for a fraction of a second, like a magical deal has just been settled. Only it doesn’t feel right for some reason, like something about that particular action is pushing against the fabric of the universe in the wrong direction.

Jim doesn’t have enough time to figure out what is wrong when Khan decides he’s had enough with grinning and barks some weird, northern spell Jim has never heard of and aims it right at Jim.

In that precise moment, the weirdest thing happens where Jim can see everything. He can see the grin fade away but the madness stay in Khan’s eyes. He can see him raise his wand, lips twisting into an ugly frown as he shouts the spell. He can even see the spell ripple through the air; blood red, fully unstoppable and aimed right at his heart. Jim can see this all happen but he can’t do anything about it. He’s frozen, in fear or panic or pain or all of the previous. He’s just standing there watching death wave its scythe and say ‘hello’.

The weirdest part of the whole thing is that he knows he can do something like run away or try to disarm the spell, but he just doesn’t know how. For one second of Jim’s life, his body feels entirely foreign to him. What an happenstance that that second is also the one in which he dies.

Jim closes his eyes and waits for the bolt of pain to hit him, but that never happens because in that second where Jim cannot move, Spock moves for him.

He steps into the line of fire like the stupid idiot that he is, and the spell previously aimed at Jim’s heart hits him right in the middle of his chest. With a loud ‘thud’, Spock falls on the floor and Jim can only stare at the body lying at his feet in pure bewilderment for the duration of a painful lungful before he’s able to react. 

Khan runs away, sharp footsteps on cobblestone driving him out of Jim’s line of sight, and with one hand on the breaks and another on the past, time is forced to jump start and push Jim into the present, where Spock is lying at his feet because Jim couldn’t move.

There are so many things to say. So many things to scream like ‘how could you?’ and ‘you fucking idiot!’, but all of them are put aside by the sound of Spock coughing and rubbing his chest.

That’s a good sign at least. Means he’s not dead.

“Can you breathe? What do you feel?”

Spock gives him a shaky nod and asses the damage. “I feel dizzy, but alive.”

It should be a relief to hear him talk and see him move, but all Jim feels is anger. Pure, unabashed, violent anger dying to be released.

Jim takes another look at Spock. Other than the bruises he got from before, he looks alright. His breathing seems to be normal, a bit forced but nothing special. His heart rate is normal, pupils aren’t dilated, nothing has come loose or turned into anything else. He looks fine, shaken but overall fine. Khan must have gotten the spell mixed up and fired something harmless in his maniacal excitement after he found the crown.

“Can you wait here? I have to go do something.”

He tries to get up but Spock stops him with a hand on his wrist. “Jim...” he pleads, more with his eyes than with his mouth.

His touch is not forceful, not I-simply-cannot-let-you-go. It’s soft and warm, a request for Jim not to fulfil his need for revenge. Jim wants to give Spock this, wants to stay by his side and take away all the pain, but he can’t let all of what’s happened lose meaning by letting Khan escape.

“I’ll be back before you know it. I promise. Just stay here, Spock.”

Jim follows the sound of Khan running around up the stairs and when he thinks he’s out of Spock’s ear shot, he lets out of the biggest rage-induced scream of his life. “Khan!”

His voice travels through the corridors scratched and coarse. It describes crystal clear how angry he feels and how much pain he is in with just four simple letters.

The sound of Khan’s footsteps stop when Jim’s voice reaches his ears. Jim’s don’t.

When he finally gets to him, Khan is stood in the middle of the corridor waiting for him. Around them a bunch of paintings watch them from the edges of their frames, curiosity and terror in their eyes. Jim ignores them; he ignores everything but a single thought. Get him.

“ Reducto !” Jim shouts.

At the same time as him, Khan bellows, “ Avada kedavra .”

They both duck for cover, Jim behind a statue and Khan behind a stone pillar.

“You don’t stand a chance, James Kirk. Just give up,” Khan says. Jim leans his head out to look at him and has to duck like a scared turtle when Khan fires again. “Do you know what’s on my head?”

“No, but I’m sure you’re dying to tell me,” Jim mutters. He’s not, shockingly, interested in hearing Khan, but he’ll gladly do it if it buys him enough time to figure out how he can blast the fucker to oblivion.

Khan doesn’t seem to care at all that Jim doesn’t reply to him, continuing happily with his homicidal ramble, “It’s the Crown of True Kings. It will give me true, absolute power. With it I will lead my race to victory.”

“Your race? Wait, don’t tell me you’re one of those pure-blood snobs too?” Jim asks, unable to stop himself.

It’s no surprise at all that someone from Durmstrang thinks that pure-blood wizards are better than the rest, but Jim somehow still expected more from a guy like Khan. Blood status is ridiculous, old-fashioned and says nothing about people’s wizarding skills.

The laugh Khan lets out next is so loud and creepy that it goes straight to Jim’s bones and makes him shudder, “I am a werewolf. Pure-blood, mind you, but a werewolf nonetheless.”

Ah. That’s not comforting to hear, but it sure explains a whole lot.

Just when Khan is about to continue speaking, Jim tries a surprise attack again.

His statue is blown to pieces when Khan retaliates, and then Jim can do nothing but dodge Khan’s every spell and keep blasting his own. 

One of Khan’s spells hits his right leg and makes it go numb. Another his left arm and Jim has to force himself not to panic as a sensation - and smell, pain, taste, sound - of burning engulfs his arm. He screams in pain as tears swell up his eyes. He knows his arm isn’t really burning, it’s just a trick, but it still fucking hurts so much. His grip on his wand loosens. Khan laughs.

Jim fires a quick fire spell. It misses its target by three metres but manages to set some curtains on fire. Jim’s left leg gives up on him. He tumbles to the floor, an easy target.

Another spell hits his chest. His cracked ribs break for good. Jim forces every painful lungful of air down his throat out of sheer stubbornness to die. He rolls on his back and stares at the ceiling.

He hears Khan getting closer until the werewolf is leaning over him.

“Any last words?” he asks with a grin on his face. For the first time, Jim notices the sharp edges of his teeth and he has to wonder how he never saw them before. It all seems so obvious now.

“Yeah. You can go eat dicks,” Jim rasps out. Khan’s grin shifts from sharp to deadly, and he kneels down so he can press the tip of his wand against Jim’s chest and hear him better.  “Also,” Jim takes a deep, tortuous breath, “I’m not dead yet.”

Khan has just a second to look confused before realisation dawns on him, but by then it’s too late. Jim has already formed the spell in his head.

He doesn’t know what spell it is, his brain is too foggy for that, only that it sends Khan flying towards the wall with enough force to punch the air right out of his lungs. Good, Jim thinks, bastard deserves it.

The fire continues to spread, smoke going out the windows. By now someone in the Quidditch Pitch must have noticed something’s wrong and help is on the way. Jim allows himself to close his eyes before he has to go back to Spock. By the time he opens them again, Khan is no longer there.

“Motherfucker,” Jim rasps, spitting out tiny droplets of blood as he speaks.

In an assessment of personal danger, Jim is able to conclude that his entire body feels as if it’s made out of heavy, oxidized lead. His left arm hurts like a son-of-a-bitch and his right leg feels like it’s not there at all. All Jim wants to do is close his eyes and sleep forever. He picks himself up off the floor, limps his way towards the nearest wall and collapses against it instead.

As he walks, he tries to make his lungs cough up all the dust and smoke he'd inhaled during the fight. If the black ball of mucus he spits out is of any indication, he still has a lot to go through to not feel like he's death warmed over.

A ray of sunlight coming from one of the windows hits a piece of rubble at his feet and something there catches his eye.

"Huh," Jim says after he's leaned down with much effort to pick up something golden and ostentatiously shiny from between the broken cobblestone.

"All of that and the asshole didn't even take the damn thing," Jim says with a sigh. He puts the crown in one of the many bigger-on-the-inside, hidden pockets of his jacket and mentally curses whomever created the blasted thing in the first place.

"Crown of True Kings, my ass. More like Crown of True Troubles, or Crown of True Assholes," he complains, allowing himself a moment to feel solemnly angry and annoyed at everything and everyone before he focuses back on reality.

With a deep, slow breath, Jim pushes himself away from the wall and makes his way back where he came from. He walks slowly and with his eyes downcast, his body too bruised and broken to allow him to move with more energy. His wand is pressed tightly against the palm of his hand the entire time.

"Khan run away, the bloody coward. He probably has a portkey waiting for him somewhere." Jim says after he reaches the front steps of the hallway, eyes still set on the floor. He's about to throw a couple more perjuries at his new least favourite person in the world when he notices Spock's form still on the floor, exactly where Jim left him. Like he hasn't moved a muscle. Like he can't move a muscle.

"Hey, Spock..." Jim calls, frozen on spot as his mind short-circuits for the briefest moment. "Fuck, Spock!" 

Jim’s running towards Spock’s motionless form before he’s even aware of it.

He throws himself on his knees in front of Spock’s legs, grabbing his friend by the lapels of his shirt and shaking him violently.

“Hey, Spock come on, talk to me. Please. Spock. Come on, just open your eyes...” 

Now that he’s close to him, Jim can see how pale Spock is, far more than he looked before when Jim left. He looks like there isn’t a single drop of blood in his body, purple veins standing out like ugly marks on his skin. There’s no blood on the floor that Jim can see, but that is of little comfort. Whatever spell hit Spock might be eating Spock’s blood cells right now, for all Jim knows.

Jim tries to find Spock’s pulse with his thumb, pressing too roughly against his neck in anguish, unable to find any signs of life.

“Please don’t die. Please, not for me, you asshole. You can’t die for me,” he says, his words only slightly quieter than shouts.

Jim allows himself a single moment to let out a strangled sob before he collects himself, picks up Spock as best as he can and starts walking where they came from. His whole body protests the heavy effort, and he only has to take three steps before he begins to feel lightheaded.

Regardless, he keeps walking. Even when an intense bolt of pain shoots through his bruised arm and he almost drops Spock, Jim keeps walking. Even when his leg begins to cramp, Jim keeps walking. Even when the pain is so much he can no longer see, hear or breathe, Jim keeps walking.

He has to get Spock help. He can’t let his stupid, ridiculous, bowl-cut aficionado, daft work partner and close friend die, not after said friend risked his life on an idiotic act of heroism for Jim. Not after everything that has happened.

Fuck no . Jim doesn’t believe in no-win scenarios, and he’s not going to let Spock die, even if that means charming his beaten and bloody dead corpse to keep walking after he’s given up.

\------------//------------

The inside of Jim’s lips taste like blood. He’s tired, sore and beaten and it hurts to breathe. There’s a wound on every one of his knuckles and opens cuts on his fingertips that stubbornly refuse to heal.

Just having his eyes open pains him, but Jim can’t close them, not until Spock wakes up.

He’s been waiting ever since he woke up. At first, Madam Alencar had made him stay in his hospital bed with the promise that she’d let him know about Spock’s condition as soon as anything changed. Jim had agreed only so she’d stop bothering him and keep trying to talk to him, which he really wasn’t up for at the moment.

So far, no one has tried to check up on either of them. Jim reckons Madam Alencar is keeping them away until next morning, when questions will have to be answered about what happened.

Jim is not looking forward to that.

The moment Madam Alencar left for the night, which was much later than Jim was fine with, Jim was pushing the sheets away and skipping to Spock’s bed on the tip of his toes, not wanting to raise the attention of the other healers.

Once inside Spock’s tiny, hospital compartment, he closed the curtains, sat on the white, rickety chair next to the bed and began to wait.

From the window behind Spock’s bed, Jim can see the moon, white and perfect, a stark contrast against the night sky. He and Spock have talked about going up there, follow the muggles’ footsteps and claim a piece of land for the magical community. It’d been nothing more than hopeful kid talk, said in between work and joking around, but Jim, stupid and ever childish as he is, had actually believed their words to be true.

Now, he finds himself losing hope in them a second at a time as the clock keeps ticking and Spock shows no signs of waking up.

Madam Alencar promised him Spock was going to be alright, but what if she was wrong? What if Khan’s spell was just of slow reaction? What if Spock never wakes up and all because he was dumb enough to sacrifice himself to save Jim?

It is while Jim worries himself sick, considers getting Bones to examine Spock and personally assure Jim that he’s alright that Spock’s eyes flutter open.

Jim jumps up from his chair immediately. He puts his hands on the mattress so he can lean a little bit closer and softly says, “Hey. How are you feeling?”

Spock opens his mouth to speak but nothing comes out. Jim gets him a glass of water.

“Thank you,” Spock says, licking his lips, “I feel adequate.”

Jim laughs at Spock’s choice of words, glad to see that his brain wasn’t affected.

“Madam Alencar said you were going to be alright. Just had to rest for a bit. You were hit pretty heavy when you saved my ass, which was a really dumb move, by the way.”

“Jim--” Spock tries to say. There must already be some logical, incredibly frustrating explanation on the tip of his tongue dying to get out. Jim doesn’t want to hear it.

“That we’re not going to discuss right now while you’re still in bed rest.” 

Spock nods, not happy that he didn’t get a chance to explain himself but most likely too tired to fight Jim about this. He is not, however, too tired to fight Jim on other subjects.

“I ascertain from your wounds and your pajamas that you are on bed rest as well and have decided not to follow Madam Alencar’s orders.”

Jim smiles. Oh, how he’s glad to have Spock back. “That’s different. I wasn’t the one who got hit by a weird, unknown spell when risking my life for my best friend, was I?” 

Spock doesn’t reply, but the way he squints his eyes at Jim makes it clear that he terribly wants to make a comment on how Jim risked his life for him, the twins and everyone else when he faced Khan alone.

“How are Azealia and Atealia?” He asks, giving them both an out from the awkward, ah-ah-I-willingly-risked-my-life-for you-without-a-second-thought subject.

“They’re both fine. They got away with only physical wounds, so Madam Alencar has already patched the up and sent them on their way.”

“And the crown?”

Jim hesitates before answering, unsure of what Spock’s reaction will be like. “I might have, hmm, hidden it. In my robes.”

Spock raises both of his eyebrows while Jim grins sheepishly.

“Wait, let me go get it.”

Jim pads back to his bed quickly, takes the crown from his robes and he runs back to Spock.

“Here it is. The Crown of True Kings.” Jim hands him the crown and sits on the bed next to Spock’s waist. Spock plays with it for a couple of seconds, examining it with a small smile toying at the corners of his lips. He lifts it up and without either of the saying anything, Jim leans down his head, able to read Spock’s intentions in his eyes without needing any verbal guidance.

Spock places the crown on top of Jim’s head with great - and unnecessary - care. The piece of ancient jewelry glows bright orange for a second before the colour fades away. Spock picks a stray lock of hair and pushes it behind Jim’s ear, leaning back against his wall of pillows afterwards to admire the whole sight.

“It looks good on you,” Spock says quietly. “It fits you much better than it did Khan.”

Hours later, Jim will look back at Spock’s words and think he read too much in them. He’ll think he let his own feelings cloud over his judgement and twist his perception, making him see things where he should be able to see none.

He won’t regret his actions though, not the least bit because what Jim sees after Spock puts the crown on his head is love. Pure, simple, genuine love; the kind that has its roots on deep affection, admiration and respect and by Merlin’s beard, Jim feels the same. He is absolutely, one hundred per cent, without a single doubt in love with Spock and he’s also a thick-headed idiot for not realizing it sooner.

Putting his feelings into actions, Jim kisses Spock. He does it because he’s Gryffindor, and Gryffindors are not known for their reckless bravery because they like to sit around and wait for other people to do things for them, but he also does it because he’s still feeling a little lightheaded from Madam Alencar’s medication and Spock’s lips look nothing if not kissable right now.

Jim is only shocked for a fraction of a second when Spock kisses back, the surprise quickly fading into Spock and kissing and  wow . Jim is a simple fellow. He loves the simple things in life and kissing Spock is just that - simple, effortless, right.

Spock’s lips taste like honey. They’re sweet and sugary and every bit delicious. They’re like home, comforting and warm and exactly like Jim expected them to be. Because it’s Spock and Spock burns hotter than the sun under his cool facade and it was never just a crush, it couldn’t have been..

“Is this alright?” Jim asks. His right hand is framing Spock’s jaw, thumb lightly grazing the skin there. His left hand is holding him up, but not for long, muscles are already straining from the effort.

Spock lifts his own right hand to Jim’s face and then lets it drop to the back of Jim’s neck as he whispers, “Yes.”

This time Spock is the one leaning forward.

Their noses bump before they lock into place, hot breathes mixing together as their lips graze each other. Time seems to slow down. The air around them condensates and Jim’s being pulled to Spock’s grasp by gravity’s force, like he’s Spock’s very own blue-eyed moon.

Jim hears a whimper and wonders if it came from him or from Spock. He doesn’t think about it for long. There are far better things ready to occupy his mind, like how Spock’s lips are slightly parted, perfect for Jim to lick, bite and push further open.

With a hand on Spock’s shoulder, Jim pushes him back against the bed, before he climbs on top of him, knees fitted snugly on either side of Spock’s hips.

“This is alright too, yeah?” he asks against Spock’s lips, aware of how he’s been making a lot of assumptions since the night began.

Spock doesn’t answer him, just pulls him back into a kiss with the hand on his neck. With the same irrevocable confidence Spock seems live his life by, he pulls Jim’s bottom lip into his mouth and bites it gently. He then licks the red mark he’s left until Jim’s lips are slick with spit.

Jim is definitely the one whimpering this time.

The air around them is without a doubt warmer now than it was before, or maybe Jim is. Either way, he feels like someone’s cast a heat charm on him that’s making it very hard to breathe and think. The heat might also be coming from Spock, who has slipped his left hand beneath Jim’s pajama shirt and is moving it across Jim’s back, occasionally pushing his fingers against the soft skin and pulling Jim closer to him, inch by inch.

It’s around this time that Jim’s arm gives out on him and makes him fall on top of Spock, who lets out a loud groan before he begins to cough violently.

“Oh shit, oh shit. Are you alright? Shit,” Jim says, scrambling to the floor to avoid causing any further pain

“I am well, just...” Spock trails off, a pained look still on his face. 

Jim looks away, fixes his eye on the grey curtains surrounding them and gives them both a moment to breathe.

“Fuck,” he says. There’s a clump on his throat that wasn’t there before and tears are quickly threatening to spill from his eyes. “You scared me so much, before, when you wouldn’t wake up.” Jim confesses quietly, not looking at Spock, not looking at anything. “I thought I’d lost you.”

“I’m sorry.” And Spock, the idiot, has the consideration to sound like he actually means it, like he’s genuinely sorry that he scared Jim when he tried to save Jim’s life.

Jim hides his eyes behind his hands and lets out a shaky laugh, turning back to Spock and pulling for a kiss again, this time a much softer, slower one. “Don’t ever do that again, you idiot,” he says with his forehead resting against Spock’s.

“I can not make any promises I can not keep.”

  
**EPILOGUE**

Everyone knows.

They don’t tell anyone, not even their closest friends, but somehow everyone just knows without them saying a word.

The reason why they don’t speak about their relationship is not because they are ashamed of it and want to keep it a secret. It’s just that whatever they are - they haven’t given it a name yet - is still young and, in Jim’s eyes, breakable. Telling people would be the same as handing it inside a piece of meat to a bunch of manticores.

It simply doesn’t feel right to speak about them together as if anyone besides them as any right to their privacy, which is why they decide not to tell people when they leave the Hospital Wing. Unfortunately, it doesn’t take them long to they realize that they have to talk about it with all the winks, curious glances, muffled giggles and knowing looks they receive when they so much as look at each other.

“Will you two quit it? We’re right here,” Jim says as he points to himself and Spock.

The three bubbly year four girls, sat a couple of seats away from them, turn around in embarrassment but don’t stop the giggling like Jim so dearly hoped they would. Spock doesn’t even have the decency to back up Jim by glaring at the girls, so used to the irritating giggles that have recently started to follow them around. 

“Does everyone know?” Jim asks Bones, who is sitting in front of him with his face crammed against an textbook about human anatomy.

“Know what?” Bones asks. Jim thinks he can see a hint of a smug smile hidden behind his spoonful soup, but he isn’t sure.

Bones has been too busy studying to grill Jim on what happened during the third task. He’d given him old ‘I don’t even know how you’re still alive but I’m glad you are, kid’ speech, and then left Jim alone to his own devices without further questioning. This could be considered as a good action by a friend who knows more than he lets on, but since it’s Bones it must be some kind of smart, evil plan to embarrass Jim.

And if that’s what Bones wants, then Jim is definitely not going to give it to him. He’s not embarrassed by what he and Spock are, whatever it might be. Spock is a bloody fantastic kisser, has no problems with cuddling and has let Jim get to second base in just two weeks. There isn’t jack squat about them together that they should be embarrassed of.

With the force of a freight train, Jim looks at Spock, who catches his gaze out the corner of his eye. The corners of his mouth lift almost imperceptibly before he gives Jim a small nod, a glint in his eyes.

Even though Spock’s expecting Jim to do something, he is not - for some weird, bizarre reason - expecting Jim to grip him by the collar of his shirt and mash their mouths together. Neither is Jim in all honesty; he was planning on just telling everyone, but then he remembered how much he liked to kiss Spock and the rest is history.

“There! Everyone happy now?” he asks the table at large.

Spock lets out a real, genuine smile that Jim finds himself reciprocating even as tries to glare at the people around them. Some people cheer, others sneer and Jim knows they’re going to get shit for this later, but frankly, he doesn’t care.

\------------//------------

Jim wins the Triwizard Tournament. The Minister of Magic himself, Alexander Marcus, gives him the Triwizard cup. A party in his honour is thrown in the Great Hall before the other schools leave and a portrait of his lovely face is hung somewhere in Hogwarts. Jim tries to enjoy his victory for as long as he can, it’s a once in a lifetime achievement after all, but it’s so drowned out by all the other things in his life currently demanding his attention that he doesn’t take very long for the Tournament to be forgotten, substituted by thoughts about Spock, the crown and the future.

For shits and giggles, Azealia and Atealia tell everyone a grand, completely fake, so exaggerated it hurts, terribly ridiculous story of how Jim and Spock came to their rescue during the third task like two shiny knights that has them both feeling embarrassed for years to come. The words ‘star born rescuers’ and ‘macho, super male powers’ are used often, while no reference was made about the reason why they needed help was because they’d both been incapacitated by a freaking bomb. Jim doesn’t know what they’re playing at, but he’s sending them Itchy Powder for Christmas anyway.

The Ministry of Magic starts a manhunt after Khan when Khan’s true intentions are revealed. Turns out trying to take over the world isn’t something the Ministry is down with. Kind of ironic since they’re trying to do the exact same thing, only by different terms.

Jim knows they won’t find him. Khan managed to find the Crown of True Kings all on his own while everyone else forgot about the Crown’s very existence. He played everyone like they were toys and kept Jim and his friends chasing their own tails while he did his dirty business behind their backs. Not only that, but none of Khan’s crimes were serious enough to get the Aurors on the case, which means the Ministry probably has some sorry buggers who don’t the meaning of  stella lter after him.

They’re not going to find him until he executes the next move on whatever plan B he must have already in place, and when that happens hopefully Jim will be in a position where he can go ‘Spock, let’s go catch the son-of-a-bitch’ and expect an affirmative answer in reply.

\------------//------------

“I’ve found it!” Jim calls out as he takes another look at the drawing in front of him. It looks very similar to the crown, with only a couple of minor differences on the way the precious rocks and the  crown’s edges look. “I knew I’d read about it somewhere.”

Spock strides quickly to where Jim is sitting beneath one of the windows, bathed by soft sunlight, and bends down to look at the book on Jim’s lap.  What Secrets Does The Past Hold? Ancient Magical Artefacts and Their Stories.

“ The Crown of True Kings. An archaic, magical artefact, it was made by goblins in the ninth century while the goblin monarchy still prevailed. Worn for many years by numerous goblin kings and queens, the crown’s location was lost in the Battle of Bloody Knee when the last king of the goblins, Dibbler the Mighty Thief, fell under the hands of the Undead. Neither his body, nor the Crown, were ever seen again, although many sightings of a zombie goblin wearing a crown have been reported through the years. Said to contain infinite power and tremendous greatness, the crown’s abilities can only be accessed if the wearer is of true noble spirit, worthy value and striking courage, which is why the crown always glowed purple and not orange when worn by the old kings.”

Spock hums as if lost in thought after Jim finishes reading, making Jim look at him.

“What?” he asks.

“The crown glowed purple when Khan put it on,” Spock explains, slowly as if he’s still digesting the words himself. Jim nods and waits for him to continue. “However, it glowed orange when you wore it.”

Jim nods once more as the words slowly sink in. The crown did glow orange when Spock put it on his head, which means that Jim is of noble spirit, worthy value and striking courage... Well that’s certainly something he can put on his résumé.

They both stare at each other for a couple of second, Jim mostly in shock and Spock in contentment, before Jim slams the book shut, drops it on one of the tables and drags the both out of the library.

“C'mon, I wanna see it with my own eyes.”

Spock doesn’t protest. He lets Jim entwine their fingers and run up the stairs to the Gryffindor Tower. Inside Jim’s bedroom, at the bottom of his trunk, is the Crown, which they don’t know what to do with yet. Handing it to the Ministry sounds like a terrible idea, but so does keeping it. The plan at the moment is to rent a vault at Gringotts and leave it there.

Jim locks the door behind him and gets the crown swiftly, running towards the mirror on the wall to take a good look at himself.

Like Spock had said, the crown glows orange when he puts it on his head. Unlike with Khan, the color doesn’t fully go away. It stays, faint and trembling, to give the allusion of a small fire licking its edges. Spock stands behind him as Jim admires himself. There’s a small smile present on his lips until Jim turns around and takes the crown off his head with a plan on his mind.

“What--” Spock tries to ask. He takes a step back, but years on the Quidditch team have given Jim quicker reflexes. He puts the crown on Spock’s head before he can escape.

Spock looks annoyed for a second, but then the crown glows orange, just like Jim knew it would, and all the anger fades away as Spock sees himself in the mirror.

On a scale from one to ten on smugness, Jim’s smile is an eleven. He knew the crown would fit Spock. There is no way it wouldn’t when Spock is so smart and clever all those other qualities - and many more - the book mentioned. 

“Looks good on you,” Jim says as he revels in the way Spock looks slightly embarrassed and confused. “Very noble indeed. If you told me you were a prince from some faraway land, I wouldn’t doubt you for a second.”

Spock glares at him, but something on Jim’s face - possibly his happy smile or maybe the transparent adoration in his eyes - makes him soften his disapproval and turn into shy fondness.

“Wait, let me get my camera. I want a picture with my boyfriend looking dapper,” Jim jumps over his bed and pulls open the bottom drawer of his bedside table, in which he keeps the camera Bones got him for his birthday two years ago. It’s an old model and it only takes pictures in sepia, but Jim doesn’t mind since it always captures the mood just right and every picture he takes with it looks beautiful.

“Boyfriend?” Spock asks, which makes Jim stop right in his tracks and backpedal so quickly his mind whiplashes itself.

“I-- well, that’s what we are, right? I mean, it’s fine if we’re not, I just thought, since you know, we told people and... Shit. Did I go too fast? I’m sorry, Spock. We don’t have to be boyfriends if you don’t want that, we can just be whatever.” You want us to be, he mentally adds like the sad fool he is.

Ever since he and Spock began to make out at every available opportunity, Jim has felt happy. He has felt thoroughly and continuously happy, from morning to night. Even after spending five hours studying Transfiguration, or a three hour Quidditch Practice, or a gruesome practice exam, Jim still feels happy all the time because he knows Spock is by his side.

He had expected things between them to be awkward at first, maybe even weird, but they’re not. Everything has fallen into place easily.

Their hands find each other whenever they’re sitting side by side without conscious effort. Kissing Spock good morning and goodnight makes Jim feel relaxed and content every time. Sneaking into empty rooms for a quick snog is electrifying. And all of it, without exception, feels like a completely natural progression of their friendship into the unknown lands of serious romantic relationships.

However, they haven’t actually said those words yet. Serious romantic relationship. So Jim might be in the wrong here, but not even that would make him feel worse, at least not for a long time. Because he loves Spock and now that he knows what’s it like to be with him, he’ll take whatever he can get.

“No,” Spock finally says after a long time spent thinking, “you are not going too fast. We are--we  can be boyfriends, if that is what you want.”

“That is definitely what I want,” Jim rushes to say.

Spock smiles. He’s been doing that a lot lately. Jim likes to think it’s because of him. “Then that is what we are.”

The picture they end up taking is forever one of Jim’s favourites. Their faces are glued together and the crown is leaning down on both their heads, orange glow still present and somehow visible in the monochromatic photo. Jim’s clothes look rumpled, Spock’s perfectly clean. Behind them you can see Jim’s dorm room, which looks like a hot mess as always, although not for long. In three days they have to start packing.

There are small bags under their eyes from all the worrying and the studying, but their smiles make up for that. Jim’s is ecstatic, bright joy barely contained in the edges of his mouth. Spock’s is more reserved, but still visibly elated.

They’re mostly just smiling in the picture, occasionally looking at each other with love eyes - mostly Jim - and laughing a bit. Every so often, just when it looks like they’re about to smile and look at the camera again, they kiss.

Jim keeps that photo in his wallet until its so frayed, crumpled and stained that you can no longer tell it’s them. By then its alright though, he has many copies of that picture and whole albums full of others.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Art for The Crown of True Kings](https://archiveofourown.org/works/882621) by [sunryder](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunryder/pseuds/sunryder)




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